


In Which Peter Finds Hope

by ladyamante



Series: In Which Peter... [2]
Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU deadpool shoots AU spidey, Alternate Dimensions, Animal Abuse, Cable being cryptic, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Sexual Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter is an adult, References to Depression, Roof Sex, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Tom Holland!Spidey, Wade & Peter bake a pie, bubble baths, darker timelines, discussions of therapy, dogpool gets the cuddles he deserves, genderfluid!wade, not as dark as it all sounds, someone gets liquified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 62,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamante/pseuds/ladyamante
Summary: Peter just wants to relax after last year. He hit a rough patch, and Deadpool helped him get through the worst of it. After identity reveals, therapy, and a few explosions, things have finally started to settle down for them both.But just as Peter's getting into the swing of things, a strange man with a metal arm shows up claiming to be a time-traveller. He says Peter is the only one who can help him save mutant kind.Peter finds himself pulled from his home and dragged through different dimensions as he and Cable search for the key to their survival. Meanwhile, they keep running into different versions of Peter's boyfriend. It seems that everything connects back to Wade. Cable thinks it's just a coincidence, but Peter is sure there's a deeper reason behind it all.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: In Which Peter... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178993
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49
Collections: Spideypool Big Bang - The 2020 Collection





	1. Insert Cable Joke Here

**Author's Note:**

> (See end notes for acknowledgements)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter just wants to sit down. Life has other plans. There’s a burly looking cyborg in his kitchen drinking his good hot cocoa, telling him how he doesn’t get to take a bubble bath tonight because the fate of mutant kind rests in his hands.

**_Flashback…_ **

_A heat wave had hit New York. It was up in the Good God That’s Hot levels of heat, which meant scorching rooftops during daytime patrols, and chafing in the suit—when Peter didn’t duck out early that was. Most crime happened at night anyway, which helped ease the guilt when he stripped off his suit and panted in front of the hit-and-miss A/C unit in his apartment._

_Kitty, the stray cat he’d more than adopted at this point, had long since moved into his place. Apparently the shade and shitty A/C from his shoebox apartment was still better than the heat and eau de garbage provided by the alleyways of New York. He’d splurged and gotten an auto-feeder for her, because lord knew he wouldn’t remember to do it himself. He did his best to remember to shovel her poop out of the new litter box he also bought—covered because apparently she didn’t like to have people watching her while she pooped._

_Most of the time Peter ended up at Wade’s. Before they got together, all he’d seen was Wade’s various crappy safehouses, but his main apartment was much nicer than that. Peter didn’t even care that he’d clearly gotten the huge apartment in a bid to lure Peter over. It had a huge sectioned couch in front of a giant flatscreen, and nearly every gaming system known to man. Not to mention, the main bathroom had a bathtub with jets._

_Its sleek appearance didn’t mean it lacked that particular Deadpool charm. Next to the bathroom there was an armory—mostly just a closet filled with guns and explosives that Wade assured him were perfectly safe. And there was a tarp under one of the windows for when Wade came home through the fire escape missing a limb or two._

_Wade was still gone on a job—he’d promised to be done in time for Peter’s birthday. So that meant Peter had free reign of Wade’s apartment for the night, once he’d done a half-hearted patrol. The heat proved to be too much for the criminals too—the only person he stopped was a sweaty man holding up a bodega for their rocket pops._

_Peter dragged himself home, sweating under the suit, and licking the remains of the popsicle he’d gotten as thanks for his heroics. He had no trouble getting in the window—Wade always left it unlocked for him. Peter didn’t have a key to Wade’s apartment, and he wasn’t about to ask for one._

_He unzipped the suit and started to wriggle out of it as he made his way to the kitchen and tossed the sticky popsicle stick. It smacked into the trash bag inside the bin. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, because he already knew where everything was anyway._

_Peter made a beeline for the freezer and pulled out a strawberry shortcake popsicle—the ones Wade tried to hide at the back because he thought Peter didn’t know about them. Wade had even put fudgsicles in front like that would distract him from the real treat._

_His underwear stuck against his skin from the sweat that dripped down his back. It had been a while since the city had a heatwave this bad. He really needed to work on the ventilation in his suit._

_He left the discarded suit and gloves in a trail toward the couch, as he flopped down on the cushions to eat his second popsicle of the night. At this rate, Wade would need to buy them in bulk. He knew he should get up and shower, but even doing that felt like too much effort. Instead, he picked up the remote and turned on the tv._

_He didn’t usually find himself flicking through shows wishing there was someone else’s butt smooshing the cushion next to him. But here he was, considering Cupcake Battles and wishing a certain chatty ex-merc was next to him—or sprawled on top of him—trying to steal the remote so he could make them watch three solid hours of whatever brainless reality television was on._

_It was an odd feeling to miss having someone around. It wasn’t that Peter wasn’t social. He just valued his alone time. He liked going out for dinner with May, or having a game night with Ned, but at the end of the day he liked to shut down—take a hot shower and blare music. The combination of water and sound was harsh and overwhelming and oddly cathartic._

_Peter ate freezer-burned pizza rolls from Wade’s freezer, and polished off the rest of the tamales that Wade always bought from the woman who wandered around selling them from a cooler, as he watched a couple hours of baking competitions. All said and done, it left him feeling lonely, sleepy, and more than a little hungry for cake._

_Out of habits borne from years of not having money, Peter shut off the A/C before he went to bed even though he knew he’d wake up later, sweaty and fighting off the sheets. And even though he knew it would be too hot, he couldn’t help but hope for another body warming the sheets beside him._

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

“The fate of mutant kind hangs in the balance,” the man drinking Peter’s good hot cocoa said.

As far as openers went, Peter gave it an eight out of 10 on the drama scale.

Peter’s first thought when he came home was that he wanted to take off his pants, pop some frozen dumplings in the microwave, and take a nice warm bath. The last thing he had expected was to find a burly cyborg rummaging around his kitchen.

He was even more surprised to find said burly cyborg making himself a mug of cocoa.

Peter had just gotten back from patrol, after a quiet day spent brunching with Ned and catching up on reading for class. After webbing up some muggers, he swung home, slipping in his bedroom window. He had just pulled off his suit, and gotten down to his boxers when he heard the noise.

It didn’t take long to find the interloper—his shoebox of an apartment left little room to hide. It took even less time to realize that it wasn’t just a very relaxed burglar, but rather the mysterious “Priscilla” Wade had told him so much about. His appearance was distinctive enough to recognize with the shock of white hair, and starburst scar around one eye. Not to mention the Mad Max vibes he was giving off with his choice of army fatigues and cobbled-together leather armor, all tied together with a large trench coat.

Peter wasn’t sure how much Wade’s stories about the man were embellished and how much were real. Allegedly, Priscilla was some time-travelling, super-powerful mutant. One thing Peter knew for sure, was that the man wasn’t pleased about being called Priscilla, a fact Peter found out when Peter tried calling him that and Cable produced a huge futuristic gun—like something out of Terminator—and set it beside his mug of cocoa. 

Apparently, Cable knew all about Peter being Spider-Man. Peter wasn’t sure whether he had Wade to thank for that, or if the man was just as all-knowing as Wade had led Peter to believe. At the moment, Peter was too shocked at the strange man taking up half his kitchen to really register that his identity was compromised.

“I’m looking for something. It’s the key to the survival of the mutant race.”

“Not that I’m not flattered, but why are you coming to me with this? I’ve got it on good authority that I’m technically not a mutant,” Peter said. Cyclops had more than once seen fit to remind him of this fact when Peter was helping out the X-Men on a mission.

Cable banged his mug of cocoa as he set it down on the table, seemingly startling himself as well as Peter.

“Yes, well. I’m not Scott,” Cable said.

Peter was fairly certain he hadn’t said that last part out loud.

“I can read minds,” Cable filled in.

He nudged a second steaming mug of cocoa towards Peter.

“Oh, good. Mind reading. Weird. And a bit of an invasion of privacy,” Peter commented. “Also, no marshmallows?” he mused.

“It’s not entirely eavesdropping. You think rather loudly,” Cable said.

Peter went to the pantry to snag a bag of marshmallows. He ripped it open and tossed a couple into the mug. And then, after a moment’s thought, shoved a few into his mouth.

“Let’s go back to the world-saving mission,” Peter said around the mouthful of marshmallow. He washed it down with some hot cocoa.

“There’s a threat to the timestream,” Cable said. “It’s all more complicated than you could understand, but the simple explanation is something’s been...misplaced, and if we don’t recover it there could be a catastrophic domino effect on the multiverse, leading to total entropy of all the dimensions.”

Peter inhaled some marshmallow.

“Multiverse?” he asked, voice high and anxious. “Catastrophic?”

He thumped himself on the chest a few times, and coughed until he’d mostly cleared the marshmallow from his lungs.

“So, what? Someone dropped something into the couch cushions of the multiverse and we need to reach in there and find it before everything goes to crap?” Peter summarized.

Cable’s face looked pinched, but he nodded.

“I’ve determined that you’re the best choice to help me,” Cable continued.

“Well, good, no pressure then,” Peter said, shifting uncomfortably under Cable’s gaze.

A breeze on his legs from the still-open window reminded Peter of what he was wearing. Or rather, what he wasn’t wearing.

“I’m gonna need pants first,” Peter said. “Can the mission wait for pants?”

They both looked down at Peter’s Spider-Man patterned boxer briefs. Peter’s cheeks colored. He covered the underwear as much as he could with his hands.

“They were a gift,” he defended. Wade had thought it was hilarious to buy Peter every bit of Spider-Man paraphernalia he could get his hands on. Peter wasn’t good about doing laundry very often, so he was stuck wearing Wade’s gag gifts more often than he’d care to admit.

Cable’s mouth quirked in a slight smirk.

Peter ran off to his room.

How was he supposed to pack for a trip to a different dimension? Cable hadn’t exactly been a font of information. Peter eyed the spidey suit he’d taken off earlier. He picked it up and gave it a whiff. It smelled...okay.

Peter pulled on the suit, wrinkling his nose a little at the way it stuck to his still-damp skin. He would have to table the issue of Cable knowing his identity for a later freak-out. That was something for Tomorrow Spidey to figure out. Right now, the fate of all mutant-kind hung in the balance—if Cable was to be believed—and even though Peter wasn’t technically a mutant, he was at least mutant adjacent. Besides, Spider-Man was a hero so regardless it was his responsibility to help if he could.

Peter clipped his web-shooters into place, settling a little at the familiar weight. He’d been in the suit more than out lately—if he wasn’t working or visiting May, he was patrolling or teaming up with the X-Men or the Avengers—so he felt naked without it. He grabbed a spare couple web cartridges and tucked them into the hidden compartments on his suit.

Cable had said they needed to leave as soon as possible, but Peter figured he had time to let Wade know where he was going. They’d both been busy lately with missions and patrolling, and work and school on Peter’s end, but they always made a point to check in with one another. After last year, Peter tried to keep in regular contact with everyone close to him. He wasn’t due to see May until the end of the week, and Wade was still on a mission, but if he did finish early, Peter didn’t want him worrying.

_“Hey Wade. You’re probably still on communication blackout right now, so I guess you’ll hear this whenever you’re done. I got a visit from an old friend of yours, Priscilla? Or I guess his name is Cable. Wish you had told me that before I called him Priscilla. I thought you were talking him up. But he’s friggin’ huge!_

_“Anyway, long story short, there’s this big important mission. I’m the only one who can help, at least that’s what Cable says. The fate of mutant-kind hangs in the balance. Sounds a bit dramatic if you ask me, but he seems serious. It’s time-sensitive so I can’t stick around to explain, but don’t worry, I’ll be fine._

_“I’ll be back in a few days at the most. Maybe less I guess, because apparently time travel is a thing?_

_“Check on May for me, let her know what’s going on. I fed Kitty cat, but maybe give her some cuddles for me? I’ll call you again if I can get reception. I uh...I gotta go. Stay safe. See you soon.”_

Peter’s phone beeped, signalling the end of the message. He tucked it in one of the pouches at his waist, and grabbed his phone charger, putting that in as well. He didn’t anticipate being gone long, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to have with him. Who knew if the future, or past, or whenever, had cell service, but he felt reassured having it with him all the same.

He eyed himself in the mirror for a moment. His suit still needed repairing after someone got a lucky swipe in with a knife, but it was mostly intact. After some deliberation, he pulled a hoodie on over the suit, and stuffed a change of civilian clothes into his messenger bag.

Cable hadn’t said how long they would be gone, but Peter knew from teaming up with the X-Men and the Avengers that missions like this could sometimes take a few days.

His eyes caught on one of Wade’s belts draped over the back of his chair. Wade had a bad habit of leaving bits and pieces of his Deadpool suit around the place. Part of the closet was slowly being taken over with Wade’s things. Just like Wade’s closet in his apartment had bits of Peter’s things.

After a moment’s consideration, Peter snagged the belt and an ever bigger handful of extra web fluid cartridges. He tucked them into the belt’s pouches and slung the whole thing across his shoulder. Better to be over prepared than plummet to his death mid-swing because he hadn’t planned ahead. He probably wouldn’t need it. After all, Cable said the mission wouldn’t take long.

He grabbed his mask, and gave his bedroom one last look before he went back out to the living room where Cable was waiting not-so-patiently.

“Let’s do this,” Peter said.

“Hang on. Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Peter asked suspiciously.

“To fix it.”

Peter grabbed the phone from his pocket and reluctantly handed it over.

“It’s not broken,” Peter said, watching as Cable pulled open the back. He did something with the device on his wrist, and popped the backing off the phone to stick something inside. Afterward, he reassembled the phone and handed it back.

“There, now you can make calls while we’re out.”

Peter eyed his phone, turning it over in his hands. The screen lit up just like normal.

“Just like that? You sonic-ed it up, and now I can make interdimensional calls?”

Cable’s brows scrunched, as if pained by Peter’s question.

“Ready?” 

Cable put Peter’s hand on his shoulder and twisted something on the device at his wrist. There was a whirring noise, and an odd fluttering of Peter’s spidey sense like bugs crawling up and down his spine.

He opened his mouth to ask how long it would take. But just as he did, the world slid sideways.

It felt like he was crammed into an impossibly small space. Something sucked the oxygen out of his lungs. He tried to gasp, but there was no air. Colors swirled in front of his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to focus on not freaking out.

The sensation of being squeezed through a small space dragged on, and just as he thought his head might burst, it was over.

He sucked in a ragged breath.


	2. Classic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classic comic Deadpool is there at the Deadpad, and he’s not happy to have visitors. Cable tears apart the place looking for whatever it is he’s looking for.

**_Flashback…_ **

_“What did we like? What did we not like?”_

_Peter was in his second favorite position, sprawled out on top of Wade. One of Wade’s hands resting just above his butt, another brushing its way from the top of his head all the way down his back. He felt like jelly. That had been intense, and he felt tired. Good tired. And the feeling of shame that sometimes followed orgasm for him didn’t come._

_He could feel where the best friend necklace around his neck had molded into his collarbone, squished between him and Wade, but he couldn’t be bothered to move._

_“I think I like it when you’re the focus,” Peter said. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but it was reassuring. Focusing on Wade made him feel less pressure. And it helped keep him out of his own head._

_“Yeah, I noticed,” Wade said with a grin. Peter couldn’t see what he was thinking, but he’d be willing to bet he was remembering the way Peter had kissed his way down his body. Peter’s cheeks warmed at the memory. “You seemed to like it when I told you what I wanted to do?”_

_Peter nodded. Some of the things Wade had said, Peter wasn’t sure he would have been able to say aloud himself. He was still a little bashful talking about the things he wanted to do during sex. He was getting better. Wade was very big on talking before, during, and after sex._

_“Because nothing’s sexier than open communication, Petey-babe,” he’d said once._

_“What about you? What did you like?” Peter asked, wanting to shift the attention away from himself._

_“I liked all of it,” Wade said, Peter could hear the grin in his voice. “There’s not a lot you could do that I wouldn’t like.”_

_“What if I poured baked beans on your naked body and licked them off?” Peter asked, voicing the first ludicrous idea he could think of._

_“Probably even that,” Wade said absently, like he was seriously thinking about it._

_“I’m not going to pour baked beans on you,” Peter said sternly. Although he knew there was little he could deny Wade, so if Wade really, really wanted it, he’d probably even do that._

_“You totally would, you dirty, dirty man-spider.”_

_He gave Peter’s butt cheek a playful smack, and Peter retorted with a gentle bite to Wade’s shoulder._

_The feeling of big warm hands petting at his head, and smoothing down the back of his neck made Peter’s stomach do that pleasing almost nauseous feeling like he was a can of pop that had been shaken all up and left to fizzle. He leaned into the feeling, nuzzling further into Wade. He made a pleased hum at how the motion made Wade’s hand tighten on his butt._

_For a second, the hand on his head left, and Peter made a questioning noise, but Wade was already shushing him._

_“Just getting us all tucked in,” Wade explained._

_Moments later, the cool duvet was pulled over them both, and Peter felt Wade tuck in all the sides until they were a thousand thread-count burrito._

_As much as Peter wanted to sleep, the pleasant fizzly feeling from before was quickly being replaced with ever-present worry. The lingering, nagging feeling like he was forgetting something._

_“Patrol?” Peter asked._

_The warm hand came back, petting at his head._

_“Just relax there, Webs. The city’s not gonna burn down without us for one night,” Wade said._

_“What if it does?” Peter asked, only half teasing._

_Wade must have picked up on his genuine worry, because instead of brushing him off, he squeezed his arms tighter around Peter._

_“They’ll just have to burn for a bit then,” Wade said._

_Peter felt Wade’s lips skim the skin of his forehead, and the lingering press of Wade’s face as he burrowed into Peter’s hair._

_Peter wriggled off of Wade, and onto the cool sheet beside them. Wade made a questioning noise, and Peter wasted no time tugging him over to lay half across Peter’s back. Wade’s limbs were all tense like a cat being dragged into a carrier to go to the vet, and he held himself up like he didn’t want to put any weight onto Peter._

_“I like you like this,” Peter said, pulling at Wade’s hip until Wade got with the program and settled on top of him._

_“I don’t want you to feel trapped,” Wade said, sounding nervous._

_“I like this position,” Peter explains. “We’ve already had the talk about which ones I don’t like.” They discussed their preferences and no-go zones at length. Wade hadn’t wanted a repeat of their first time trying to get busy that had ended with Peter panicking, and Wade and the Boxes assuming Peter was disgusted with Wade._

_When Wade still seemed too tense at his back, Peter reached back to pet at his side. Wade’s muscles jumped under Peter’s fingers._

_“I’ll tell you if I start to feel trapped,” Peter assured him._

_Peter felt more weight press onto his back, and he sighed in relief. That fizzly feeling was back, warming him from the inside out._

_“I like you here, watching my back,” Peter said._

_He grinned as he felt Wade kiss a line down the back of his neck, tickling at the baby hairs there. One of his hands trailed down Peter’s side._

_“I like watching your back-” Wade paused, seemingly for effect. “-side.” He patted one of Peter’s butt cheeks._

_Peter groaned and rolled his eyes into the pillow._

_“Get some rest. New York’ll still be there in the morning,” Wade said._

_“Unless it catches on fire or something,” Peter muttered, having to get the last word in._

_Peter dropped off like that, with the reassuring weight of Wade on top of him and the press of two friendship necklaces leaving marks on his skin._

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present…_ **

Peter felt like his body had been shoved through a colander. His stomach gave an awful lurch and he had a moment to drag his mask up before he doubled over and hoarked his ever-loving guts out.

Bile welled up in Peter’s throat and he spat it out onto the ground. An odor like those ten- cent party poppers Ben used to buy him for the Fourth of July hung in the air. His gut churned, but nothing came out this time.

“First time’s rough,” a gruff voice said behind him.

Peter opened his eyes finally, and looked back to see Cable looking not at all sympathetic. One thing was certain, they were no longer in Peter’s apartment.

He pushed himself upright, tensing his legs when he felt a wave of dizziness run through him. Cable didn’t offer a hand, just stared past him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

It took a moment to register that it wasn’t Cable who had spoken. There was no mistaking that voice.

Peter spun to face him, and his vision filled with spots. He blinked to clear it only to see a gun getting up close and personal with his face.

“Wade?”

But it wasn’t Wade. At least, not _his_ Wade. This Deadpool was large, larger than the Wade Peter knew. There was no other word for it. He was...muscle-y. His arms were like tree trunks. And his chest was two of Peter’s. Dear lord. It was difficult to look at all that muscle in leather and not picture it pressing him into the nearest horizontal surface, or vertical—Peter wasn’t picky.

“Unless you want some new holes to breathe out of, I’d fuck off right now.”

Apparently this Deadpool was a whole lot less welcoming than his Wade too. Peter stared down a ludicrously big gun with the words “open wide” written on the barrel. Peter snorted.

“Wade.”

“Priscilla,” Wade greeted.

What was with the Wades and calling Cable, Priscilla? Peter made a mental note to ask his Wade later.

“I’m so glad you dropped by. Afraid I’m too busy to entertain, fellas. I’ve gotta wash my hair. Let’s not do this again for another decade. I’ll have my people call your people. I think I’m free...oh say, the twelfth of never.” Deadpool made a show of checking his wrist for a non-existent watch.

“I take it you know me then,” Cable said, sounding exasperated. That seemed to be a running theme with him and the Deadpools.

“If by ‘know’ you mean we’ve shot each other in the face, and you swallowed me once, then yes.”

Peter felt his brain trip up a bit at the odd image. Cable’s face looked even more constipated than it did before.

“Did you two…?” Peter gestured vaguely from Deadpool to Cable. Suddenly he found himself picturing them in a way he really didn’t want to be picturing them. 

Apparently Cable wasn’t wanting to picture it either, because he made a face even more frowny than before.

“Did we do the do? Play hide the pickle? Bump my oh so ugly with his less ugly?” Deadpool laughed. “Nah, the homo was all subtext. I’d say it was because the writers were just that heterosexual, but really it was that stick up his ass. How is anyone ever supposed to compete with that?” Deadpool made an exaggerated gesture towards Cable like he was some two-bit comedian hamming it up for an invisible audience.

“Cable and you, don’t have the best relationship then?” Peter guessed.

“What gave you that impression,” Deadpool shot back sarcastically. “It’s kinda hard to feel the warm fuzzies for a guy who humiliates you in front of the whole world all because he didn’t trust you. Then he proceeds to go all ultra powerful, makes me lobotomize him, and then drools into the couch cushions while I do the heavy lifting to bring him back.”

Deadpool gestured towards Peter with the gun.

“You taking on sidekicks now? What’s the matter, your ratings drop too low? You trying to boost your younger audience with a twinky Robin to your Batman? Wait, no. Even Batman knew how to let loose once in a while. He’s the Fred to your Edgar Bergen. Or is that reference too dated?”

“I’m not his sidekick,” Peter said, unable to keep the whine from this voice. Apparently Deadpools from any dimension could push his buttons.

“Good for you, boy wonder. Now, are we done with expositioning? I think we’re _all_ getting a little tired of that. It’s time for you both to skedaddle.” Deadpool made a shooing motion with his hands. “I’ve been in this suit for a week. Golden Girls is on in ten, and papa needs a shower, and to slap the salami in peace.”

Wade tossed his gun behind him.

Peter flinched. Cable didn’t even have the decency to startle at the gesture. Thankfully, the gun didn’t go off.

“We need your help,” Cable said grimly. “We have a mission.”

Peter winced. He saw Deadpool’s reaction coming a mile off. No iteration of Wade would ever react well to Cable’s particular brand of self-righteousness.

Deadpool snorted.

“It’s always some world-saving, goody-two-shoes mission with you. Do you sense a disturbance in the force Obi-Wan?”

Wade made his way over to a shelf with records haphazardly lined up and started flipping through them.

“Wade,” Cable said warningly. 

“Good luck with that,” Wade said, waving his hand dismissively as though to wave Cable and his ‘goody-two-shoes mission’ away. “Don’t let the interdimensional door hit your keister on the way out.”

“Millions of lives hang in the balance.”

“They always do. Why don’t you just power up, and change everyone’s minds? Not like you need a low-life murderer like me to help you, right? Or are you looking for someone to do your dirty work, and then take the fall when everyone looks your way?”

Wade seemed to find whatever he was looking for, and pulled out one of the records. Just as he grabbed it, the sleeve was yanked from his fingers by an invisible force. Peter had a brief moment to see eighties haircuts on a neon pink background before it went sailing over the couch and fell to the floor with a clatter that made Peter wince.

There was a brief flutter of Peter’s spidey sense, and then a knife was sailing towards Cable. Cable didn’t even bother twitching away, just waved his hand and the knife redirected its trajectory.

“If that’s broken you’re paying me back. I was overcharged eighty bucks for that on SpeedBay,” Wade said, another throwing knife in hand.

“I don’t know why I expected any differently from you,” Cable said, sounding ‘not mad, just disappointed’.

“What can I say, I’m a conscience-less objector,” Wade said. Instead of trying his luck throwing the knife at Cable, he tossed it at the wall behind him, nailing a poster of a man with bright orange hair and what looked like a band-aid across his nose.

Cable fiddled with the dimension hopping device at his wrist. He seemed to have dismissed Wade, and was back to focusing on whatever it was he did on that thing.

Meanwhile, Deadpool semi-quietly fumed to himself as he went to check on the fallen record. He wasn’t muttering to the Boxes like Peter’s Wade, just grumbling.

Peter couldn’t help but inspect this Deadpool. He was larger than Peter’s Wade, bulkier. But that wasn’t the only difference. He held himself differently too. Peter would never have thought of his own Wade as relaxed, but compared to how this Deadpool carried himself, Peter’s Wade was positively carefree.

“Do you-” Peter’s question cut off by Cable.

“There’s traces of energy here. Someone hopped dimensions to this location, or somewhere nearby,” Cable said.

“Wait, you can just read dimension-hopping energy?” Peter questioned.

Deadpool snorted.

“So he’s about as forthcoming as always,” Wade commented snidely.

“Is it the thing you’re looking for?” Peter asked, ignoring Wade. 

He wished Cable would be a bit more trusting with Peter about the details of their mission. They had barely started their search and already he was tired of how cryptic the other man was, but he knew it wouldn’t help anything if he got annoyed.

“Might be,” Cable said, already stalking off to the other room. Well, that just cleared things right up, didn’t it.

Peter trailed behind, followed by Deadpool who loomed over him. It was hard to feel threatened by his presence though, even if he wasn’t Peter’s Wade. The mask was so familiar, and although Deadpool was posturing and growling, that’s all it seemed to be: posturing.

“Sorry about him,” Peter said, apologizing for Cable’s gruffness as much as for the way Cable had begun to tear apart the room, overturning cushions and tossing knick-knacks around with little care for the mess he was making.

“I’ll clean this up,” Peter promised.

He caught a mug out of the air before it could smash to the floor.

“Easy, that’s a collectible,” Deadpool said, snatching the Captain America mug out of Peter’s hands. “These are not the droids you’re looking for, buddy.”

“There’s nothing here,” Cable said finally.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, asshat,” Wade grumbled.

“Was it really necessary to destroy the room to find whatever it is you’re looking for?” Peter asked.

Peter startled when he turned and found Deadpool’s face inches from his own.

“You work out, or is this all natural?” Deadpool asked, voice deadpan.

It took Peter a moment to work out what he was saying. He was grateful for the way his mask hid his blush. He batted the other man away.

“Uhh…”

“The signal’s gone. Just traces at this point,” Cable said. “Let’s go.”

“That’s it? You pop in unannounced, toss my stuff around, and it’s just wham, bam, off to another dimension, ma’am?”

“The trail’s getting cold,” Cabe said.

He snagged Peter’s arm, pulling Peter away from Deadpool who was still leaning in close and leering at Peter.

“This should be the last time we meet,” Cable said gruffly.

Peter spared Deadpool a glance.

“Nice meeting you,” Peter said, giving Wade a little wave. “Thanks for not shooting us.”

“Be seeing you soon pretty boy,” Wade said, winking at Peter and giving him a sloppy salute. Peter had a moment to feel confused at the words before the room warped, and he felt like his body turned itself inside out again.


	3. Mislaid, Missing, Abducted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade looks for Peter. There’s dissent in the ranks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wade POV Chapter
> 
> _  
>  Quick note about the Boxes' formatting:   
>  _
> 
> **  
> _Yellow_  
>  **
> 
> **[White]**

**_Why are we always the ones chasing after Spidey?_ **

**[Maybe he’s just not that into you.]** White suggested not at all helpfully.

It was getting harder to argue with the Boxes’ logic. Partially because of the doubt that niggled at Wade’s mind whenever he thought about Peter. He didn’t doubt that he wanted to sweep that beautiful man off his feet and make cute little spidey babies with him—that’s what he’d wanted since day one—but he doubted that Peter wanted that in return. It was one thing to live dangerously and bang the bad boy merc all the superheroes warned you away from, and quite another thing to shack up with that bad boy merc—especially when Wade was less a roguish James Dean, and more maladjusted Phantom of the Opera.

He’d been trying to lure Peter into living with him for weeks. He gave Peter a drawer, and part of his closet. When Peter left books at his place, Wade put them on the shelf, and when Wade went grocery shopping—on the rare occasions he remembered to—he always got Petey’s favorite snacks. But all he’d gotten for his efforts was a smile, and Peter thanking him for the chips like Wade wasn’t making some grand romantic gesture.

**[Probably because you’re not. You have to actually ask him to move in.]**

**_No, this way’s better. That way you can play it off like a joke if he doesn’t say yes._ **

**[He’s probably just being nice anyway]** White hissed, always convinced their whole relationship with Spidey was some elaborate joke, and Peter was waiting to deliver the punchline.

The other reason arguing with the Boxes was getting impossible was—

“You two won’t friggin’ shut up!”

They’d been talking non-stop, panicking ever since Wade got to Pete’s and found his bag by the door, but no Peter, and a weird scorch mark on the floor that definitely hadn’t been there before Wade left for his mission. An odd smell like pencil shavings lingered in the air. If he could just put his finger on why it seemed so familiar.

**[Good luck with that. Your memory’s like swiss cheese at this point.]**

**_I remember!_ **

“Really?” Wade asked hopefully.

**_No...I just wanted to feel included._ **

Wade sighed.

**[You’re almost as useless as he is.]**

**_We could try calling him again?_ **

The three times he tried, the phone rang once before sending him to voicemail. Each time, he went to leave a message, but the call dropped out before he got the chance.

Wade let out another sigh, and promptly tipped forward, letting himself slam face-first into the linoleum like a broken Weeble Wobble. His nose made a terrific crunching sound, and pain bloomed across his face. Ahh, sweet clarity. He felt tears spill down his cheeks from the sting. He ground his nose into the ground a bit, partially for the spark of pain it brought, and also to shut Thing One and Thing Two up.

Peter’s very creatively named “Kitty”, the stray that liked to eat Peter’s food and shit in Wade’s boots, came over and climbed onto his back.

“You seen him?” Wade asked, shifting his head to the side. He didn’t expect an answer, but it felt good to have someone to interrogate.

Wade’s nose made a fantastic cracking noise as it popped back into place.

As expected, the furball gave him bupkis—just a swipe of her claws along his back that added to the symphony of pain on his skin.

Once Wade was finished having his little self-pity session—that was what White chose to call it anyway—he started working on an actual plan to find his wayward Spidey. Maybe he got his dates mixed up, and Petey was just over at Wade’s place studying up a storm.

He went over to check. The cab ride dragged on from traffic. During the ride, White and Yellow ran the gamut of every possible explanation for why Petey-pie might be avoiding them. He tried texting Peter, but it failed to send, and after furiously jamming his finger against the screen a dozen or so times, he put it away before he could get overzealous and break the damn thing. For once, Dopinder didn’t try to chat with him, clearly picking up on the crazy practically leaking out of Wade’s ears.

If this was a job, Wade would have already pulled himself together and made a plan of action, but when it came to something personal—when it came to Peter—it was hard to organize his thoughts. He had two extra voices bouncing around in his head, and still all his collective brain could do was spiral further into panic. 

Pete wasn’t at Wade’s place either. The few dishes in the drying rack, and the way the covers were all tangled up in the bed told him Pete had come over while he was gone though. Wade scoured the apartment, dented a lampshade in a fit of annoyance, and managed to break a few of his toes before he gave up on searching his own place.

The first place Wade went after going to both their respective apartments was the bar. It wasn’t so much that he thought Peter was knocking back drinks at Sister Margaret’s, but he did think Weasel might be able to help. At worst, it would be a waste of time with a few drinks to calm his nerves.

He found himself perched on a sticky stool at Sister Margaret’s, elbow to asshole with Weasel’s usual customers—mercs and crooks—the scum of society.

“I’m distraught, Weas.”

Weasel eyed him warily, clearly trying to get a read on him.

“You’re not going to cry, are you? Because I’d really rather not have a grown man cry in my bar again. And I gotta tell you, I don’t see it being as adorable and Disney princess-y when you do it as when your baby-faced twink does.”

“You’d be lucky to have him get snotty all over this bar. But also, if you make him cry again, I will cut you. In creative places. With creative things.” Wade dropped his voice low, only mildly able to appreciate the way Weasel scuttled back a step at the threat.

“So you’ve said. And for the last time, I didn’t make him cry! He was probably going to do that anyway. He looks like he’d cry if his favorite cartoon got cancelled.”

Wade recalled the last time Peter had been here. All he’d managed to get from Weasel’s panicked phone call that night was that there was a Disney princess crying in Wade’s pajamas at the bar. He remembered legging it to the bar, and finding Peter wrapped in Wade’s favorite sweatshirt, loudly sobbing into his arms. At least then he’d known what to do.

Weasel set a shot glass in front of Wade and filled it with something cheap and no doubt watered down.

“This is serious. Something’s wrong with Petey,” Wade said.

“Did I ask you what was going on? I specifically didn’t ask, because every time I ask someone how they’re doing I end up playing therapist to some sad sack with a sob story. And that sad sack is usually you.”

Wade eyed him, watching Weasel nervously wipe at the same glass he’d been holding since Wade came in. He was using a dirty rag though so it kind of defeated the purpose.

“Get it, because your face looks like a nut sack?” Weasel added.

Wade growled, slapping his hand on the bartop. Weasel only jumped slightly—by now he was used to Wade’s erratic moods.

“Fine. What’s got your leathers in a twist?” Weasel asked, sounding resigned.

Wade dragged his mask from his face and ran rough fingers over his scalp. The spark of pain it brought when one of his nails caught on a new sore was oddly satisfying.

“My beau has been mislaid.”

Weasel snorted. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Wade cut him off.

“So help me god, if you make some joke about me mis-‘laying’ him in bed I will punch you in the throat.” Wade was feeling even twitchier than usual, and the peanut gallery in his head certainly wasn’t helping. He tapped his fingers on the bar-top.

“Sheesh. You’re the one who set up the joke.”

Wade glowered at Weasel, noting how the other man shifted uneasily under his gaze.

“Petey-pie is missing.” Wade pulled out a knife from one of the various sheaths on his person and started carving into the side of the bar. Weasel, wisely, did not comment.

“Are you sure you didn’t just lose him?”

“He’s not a set of keys, Weas.”

The noise of the knife against the wood grated on Wade’s ears, so he put the knife back and looked up to see Weasel looking vaguely constipated.

“Okay, so you know that thing we don’t talk about, that we both agree you have wiped from your memory?” Wade said.

Weasel paused in his glass rubbing. He leaned in, voice dropping down to a hushed whisper, only it was a bit more like a stage whisper because the guy didn’t seem to have a firm grasp on covert whispering.

“That thing about your boy toy and a certain webbed menace? And their...connection?”

“The very same,” Wade said. “I think Peter missing has something to do with his...extracurricular activities.”

Weasel set aside the glass finally and tossed the rag behind him. It made a slightly wet thud as it landed somewhere behind the bar.

“How do you know he’s missing and not just…” Weasel gestured vaguely.

“Run off? Ghosted me?” Wade filled in. “Because, even though I am in no way worthy of Petey-pie’s awesomeness, he’s too good and pure to do something so despicable. He’s the kind of gem that would sit you down and have a serious, thoughtful talk about things if he was going to ditch you. Ergo, Peter hasn’t come to his senses and unhitched his wagon from this crazy train. He’s missing.”

“So he was kidnapped?”

“Pretty sure it’s abduction if he’s over eighteen.”

Weasel’s face scrunched up like whatever he was about to say physically pained him.

“Have you asked around with the capes? Maybe the Avengers know something? Or the X-Men?”

It was Wade’s turn to scrunch up his face. He and the Avengers weren’t at each other’s throats these days, but that didn’t mean he was itching to buddy up with them either. The tentative truce was more because neither party wanted to upset Spidey-Babe. Didn’t mean he was keen on calling up Captain Tight Pants or Stark for help.

Weasel sighed.

“Or I could ask around. Do some digging on the dark web. See if anyone knows anything,” Weasel offered.

“You offering to knock some heads for me, Weas? Wow, you are so gay for me.”

Weasel made a noise like a dying elephant.

“Whatever’s going to shut you up,” Weasel said. “And besides, I’m not doing it for free. I’m charging you the full fee.”

“Sure thing,” Wade said dismissively. “Is it just because Petey’s so pretty? I know you usually rate a zero on the Kinsey scale, but let’s be honest, even a manly man like Freddy Mercury would shift to a one or two for my baby boy.”

“Do you really not know— Freddy Mercury was— Never mind. Don’t be gross.” Weasel looked up, seemingly thinking something over, and then glanced back at Wade. “Fine. He’s attractive. It’s those bambi eyes. I’m pretty sure Booth was about to give his entire retirement to the kid when he saw him.”

Wade grinned. Weasel leaned forward, conspiratorially on the bar.

“Seriously, how did you snag him? Was it blackmail?”

At this, Wade frowned. White was going to hop on this insult train if he wasn’t careful.  Wade hopped up, knocked back the rest of his drink and set the glass down. He snagged his mask and pulled it on over his head. Just in time too, because the Boxes went from the dull murmur they’d been at, to front and center nagging.

**[Don’t know why you took it off in the first place.]**

**_Dramatic effect!_ **

“Buh-bye.” Wade wiggled his fingers in Weasel’s direction. “Let me know what you shake loose from the criminal underworld.”

“Wait. Wade! You should check with his aunt.”

Wade paused. He back-pedalled.

“He has one of those, right?” Weasel continued. “Maybe she knows something about where he is.”

**[You are an idiot, Wade.]**

Peter did in fact have one of those. And Wade and Yellow both felt more than a little dumb for not remembering. White assured them he’d known, but didn’t say because he wanted to give them space to figure it out. Wade thought White was a dirty rotten liar.

A couple cab rides later and they were standing at May’s front door. It took longer than expected when they got side-tracked by Yellow convincing him to double back because he swore they’d missed something at Peter’s. They hadn’t. Instead, he found himself holding onto Peter’s half-feral cat, just barely keeping the thing from flinging itself out of his arms—grabbing the cat was another of Yellow’s bad ideas.

“Peter’s gone.” It wasn’t how he’d meant to greet May when she first opened the door, but his brain was mostly one-track at this point. Petey-Pie’s absence was monopolizing his brain, and everything else just kind of fuzzed out. 

“Wade,” May greeted. “Come in.”

Wade found himself led to one of the couches by May’s gentle, guiding hand at his elbow. Kitty wriggled unhappily in his arms, but after he squished her firmly to his chest, she gave up and just leaned over his shoulder panting unhappily.

“Sorry for the surprise cat. She’s Peter’s, and considering he’s nowhere to be found, Yellow and I thought we shouldn’t leave her by her lonesome. Pete calls her Kitty, but let’s be honest, he lacks imagination. Between you and me, she’s Dolly as in Parton, goddess among us mere mortals. Do you like her? She kind of stinks, and sheds a lot—the cat, not the singer. Pete seems to like her. Again, the cat, not the singer. Although, does he like Dolly Parton?”

Wade could feel himself rambling. Even the Boxes agreed he needed to shut the hell up, but it was like he couldn’t; like if he stopped, things would all go to shit.

Dolly dug her nails into Wade’s shoulder.

“Wade,” May said softly. “Start from the beginning.”

Wade relayed it all to her—how he came back to find an empty apartment and then checked his own apartment only to find more of the same. He told her about the suspicious lack of Peter’s spidey suit and spare web cartridges that he’d noticed on his second sweep of Peter’s apartment, and how it painted a concerning picture. Peter’s schedule was tightly planned, and posted on the wall at all times. It wasn’t like him not to stick to the schedule.

“Then it sounds like he left on hero business. Did he leave a note?”

Wade paused. A note. Had there been a note?

**_There wasn’t a note._ **

“Thank god.”

**[Probably.]**

“Probably?! What do you mean probably?!”

**[It’s not our job to pay attention for you.]**

“You two idiots couldn’t be bothered to keep an eye open. We’ve wasted enough time already, and now you’re telling me he might have left a note that you just missed!”

He felt the tell-tale whimpering from Yellow that told him the Box was sulking.

**[Fine. Fine. There was no note.]**

“You’re sure?”

At some point May had slipped out of the room, and Wade couldn’t tell if it was out of the desire to give him a moment alone or if he’d just scared her off.

**[About ninety-six percent sure.]**

**_We didn’t miss something?_ ** Yellow asked hopefully.

It was at this point May reappeared with two steaming mugs.

“Figured you could use something comforting,” May said.

When she set it on the coffee table in front of him, he saw a pile of marshmallows on top of hot cocoa.

“Now, let’s walk through this together. See if we missed anything,” May said. “Drink up.” She nudged the mug closer until he reached out to grab it.

The cat took the opportunity to escape, darting out of his arms, nails tearing through his hoodie as she used his chest for a launching pad. He didn’t bother checking the scratches—they were already healing.

Wade picked up the mug and carefully rolled his mask up to his nose. May didn’t make a face when he did that. Just like she hadn’t the first time he’d rolled up his mask around her to eat. He didn’t think he’d ever find the words to tell her how much that meant to him.

He took a sip, and right away nearly choked. His eyes watered.

“Christ, May.”

May grinned at him over her own cup.

“Sorry, figured you could use a little something extra to yours,” she said. “Is it strong?”

“Just a bit.” Wade thumped his chest a couple times, and coughed through the burning sensation in his throat.

May smiled at him, reaching out to pet at the cat as she strolled by on the table. Petey always let her up on the table too. Wade usually shooed her away, but instead he just took another sip of his cocoa.

“Talk me through it again,” May said, voice steady.

Wade explained it all again, a little more calmly this time, and with less rambling. White and Yellow kept their interference to a minimum, although Yellow still seemed slightly panicky, which definitely wasn’t helping. Wade was worried enough on his own thankyouverymuch.

When he was finished, and the hot cocoa was gone, he felt as though he was no closer to figuring out where Peter could be. He had no way of knowing how long Peter had been gone for, and the odd scorch mark left on the floor of Peter’s apartment certainly wasn’t reassuring.

“What if he just ditched? You know? What if he’s not coming back because he’s doing the most elaborate ghosting ever?”

“Do you really believe Peter Benjamin Parker would do that to anyone, let alone you?”

Wade felt a little ashamed he’d even voiced the thought aloud to her. And with the way May stared him down, brow raised, he felt more than a little ridiculous doubting Petey. He knew Pete was an honorable and caring guy. And he trusted that Peter loved him...most of the time. But it was kinda hard with Tweedledee and Tweedledumber chittering away in his right, superior temporal region.

May, doll that she was, talked him through some of the crazy. It was times like this Wade was reminded of his own mother—or at least the small pieces he remembered of her. Just when he felt like he might spin out of his own head from worry, May had a calm tone to soothe his nerves. The shot of whiskey didn’t hurt either.

“If Peter is in trouble, he’ll find a way to contact you. And in the meantime, we’ll make a plan to look for him. You’re not going to have to figure this out alone.” She squeezed his hand gently in hers, and even the Boxes quieted down a bit.

It got late, and dark out. Wade was planning on going back to Peter’s, but May wrangled him into staying. Which was how he found himself tucked into Peter’s childhood bed, wrapped in an Ironman comforter, and looking up at a ceiling of oddly accurate glow-in-the-dark constellations. He pictured a tinier, babier Spidey climbing the walls to stick each individual star painstakingly in its place. It felt like someone was squeezing his heart in his chest.

The cat parked herself with her ass in Wade’s face, and her claws digging into the meat of his arm.

His anxieties were mostly mollified for the time being. But he still felt wretched. Like he wanted to listen to Patsy Cline, eat himself sick with chips, and ugly cry.

“He’ll at least have to come back for you, right?” he asked, giving Dolly’s fluffy butt a pat.

Neither the Boxes, nor the cat had anything to say to that.

He fell asleep with the smell of May’s laundry detergent and the faint scent of Peter’s body spray swirling around him, distantly aware of a buzzing noise.


	4. Free Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie Deadpool & Russell make an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Peter’s POV.

**_Flashback..._ **

_ Peter was mostly asleep, and half sprawled on top of Wade, listening to the latest in a long line of cave-related horror movies—once they’d watched the first, it was a deep dark rabbit hole of Netflix. Before he could sink even further, he was jolted awake by Wade speaking. _

_ “When’s your birthday?” _

_ The question came out of nowhere, as with most of Wade’s conversation starters, and honestly this was the least weird one. Usually when Wade got quiet, and they were cuddled up, he started off with asking if Peter had ever considered shoving ginger up his ass, or something like that. Peter had gotten used to rolling with the punches. In fact, it was one of the things he liked about Wade. The man was always keeping him on his toes. _

_ “August 27th. It’s still a ways off, don’t worry, you didn’t miss it,” Peter said. _

_ Wade sat up suddenly, his warm hand leaving Peter’s hair. Peter had to resist the urge to make an annoyed noise. _

_ “That means you’re a…” he paused, as though internally calibrating and then shouted, “Virgo!” _

_ Peter winced at the loudness. _

_ “You know that just off the top of your head?” Peter asked. _

_ Peter snagged the melty tub of rocky road from the coffee table. The forgotten tub of bubblegum lay beside it, bits of bubblegum had sunk to the bottom of the puddle of melted ice cream, and a plastic kid’s spoon was somewhere in there too. Wade always did this. He’d choose bubblegum for the pretty color, and then not want to eat it. _

_ “When’s your birthday, then?” Peter asked, digging into the ice cream that was a soupy mess at this point. _

_ Wade kept talking like Peter hadn’t asked anything at all, and Peter might have thought he didn’t hear him, except his voice picked up pace like he was nervous, or trying to avoid the topic. _

_ “You’re a classic Virgo. Likes to help others, strong sense of duty, loyal, patient, strong but sensitive,” Wade ticked the items off on his fingers. _

_ Yet again, Peter was amazed at how sharp Wade’s mind was. People rarely seemed to notice how smart he was—how quick he could be. He absorbed information like a sponge, and had remarkable intuition when it came to other people. It was no wonder he’d been so good as a merc, and no wonder that SHIELD often called him in on jobs. _

_ “What about the bad traits?” Peter asked. _

_ Wade paused, and suddenly Peter felt those too-observant eyes on him. _

_ “You got a little something there,” Wade said, gesturing to Peter’s face. _

_ Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _

_ “What, is my self-deprecation showing?” Peter teased. _

_ Wade army-crawled closer until he was inches from Peter. He reached up, and brushed his hand against Peter’s cheek, his fingers were warm and rough against Peter’s skin. Peter felt a thrill shoot through his body, from the point of contact, all the way down to his toes. Touching Wade always felt like that. _

_ “Nope, just ice cream,” Wade said, voice husky. _

_ Peter watched as Wade brought the hand to his own lips to lick off the ice cream. Peter’s eyes followed the motion. And then he couldn’t help but lean forward to steal a kiss. He felt Wade grin against his lips. They both tasted like chocolate. _

_ Wade’s hand came up to cup Peter’s cheek, and moved up to brush through his hair. _

_ “Too critical of themselves too,” Wade said. “Perfectionists. Virgos need to chill out, and love themselves a little.” He said the last part with a wiggle of his eyebrows. _

_ Peter shoved him over, knocking Wade onto his side. _

_ “You’re making that up,” Peter said. _

_ Peter sat up and leaned over to put the tub of ice cream back, but before he could set it down, he was pulled down. It was half luck, and half spidey powers that kept the rest of the rocky road from making a home in his lap. _

_ He ended up on his side, laying beside Wade, who proceeded to wrap Peter up in his limbs like an octopus. One of his legs was flung over Peter’s hip, and his arms pulled Peter in close. And then, he wiggled down so his head was pressed into Peter’s chest. _

_ It wasn’t until later that Peter realized Wade had neatly side-stepped the question about his birthday. _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

The second time dimension hopping wasn’t quite as awful. Peter didn’t throw up at least, but it was a close thing. He doubled over, leaning up against the side of what he realized was a dumpster. After a few deep breaths he stood.

They’d  _ bamf _ ed into an alley this time. It was dark out, but the smells and sounds were unmistakable. Peter would bet dollars to doughnuts they were in New York.

“You should change into your plainclothes.”

It took Peter a moment to parse Cable’s words.

“Huh?”

“Your clothes,” Cable said, gesturing to the spidey suit. “And that mask too. Take them off. You’ll draw less attention that way.”

Peter figured arguing wasn’t worth it, so he pulled out his change of clothes and tucked himself behind the dumpster to change. He muttered to himself about how it would’ve been nice to have Cable tell him about the wardrobe thing ahead of time as he pulled off his suit. He knew Cable could probably read his thoughts on the matter, but it felt better to voice his annoyance out loud.

He wished he could say it was his first time getting mostly naked in some random alley, but in his early days of Spider-Manning, he’d done it a lot—not wanting to risk May catching sight of him in the suit at home.

Just as he finished zipping his pants up, someone yelled his name.

“Peter?”

Peter jolted at his name coming from a voice he recognized. He looked over to see an achingly familiar red and black suit, and two big white masked eyes staring at him. This Deadpool’s suit looked more like Peter’s own Deadpool, and not like the bulkier Deadpool they’d just visited.

“Wade?” Peter didn’t speak very loudly, but Deadpool snapped to attention anyhow.

“Well hello there, you’re definitely not Peter—unless we’re talking his catfishing pic,” Wade said. “Any of you seen a fella with a moustache? A little fluffy around the middle, built for cuddling you might say.”

“No. Sorry, we just got here,” Peter said.

The presence of another Deadpool so soon after seeing the first was startling. What were the chances?

This Deadpool sidled up to Peter.

“What’s a nice boy like you doing in my neck of the woods?” Wade asked, tone flirtatious, but Peter’s spidey sense prickled ominously. He sounded suspicious. At least he hadn’t jumped right to pointing a gun at him like the last Deadpool.

Peter was glad he’d switched out the spidey suit for something a little less conspicuous, the last thing he needed to do was leave an impression. Especially if he bumped into more people he knew.

“Just passing through,” Cable cut in, making Deadpool startle with a shriek.

“Holy guacamole. You nearly gave me a semi-permanent heart attack there Marty McFly,” Deadpool said, pressing a hand to his chest. Deadpool turned, keeping them both in his sightline. He visibly gave Cable a once-over.

“Is this some kind of time travel thing, or did you just spontaneously decide to grow more hair, and do a wardrobe change? Careful, you let that hair grow any longer and you’ll look like Old Man Hawkeye. Not that I’m not digging it. The hipster scarf needed to get the boot. But the undercut was nice. Very lesbian chic. We could’ve put all our stuff in a u-haul and taken the cat and the kid to Canada. ”

“You know me,” Cable said, eyes sharp.

“Well, duh. You kinda adjusted my spine. It’s an intimate experience a fella doesn’t soon forget. And by adjusted I do mean rearranged it like it was a centaur’s leg and you were an overzealous schoolboy left alone with the Elgin marbles.”

Cable looked just as baffled as Peter felt. Not only because most of that didn’t make sense, but also because of how similar he sounded to Peter’s Wade.

“What? Not a fan of classical art?” Wade continued, wandering up to Cable, looking like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to fight him, or climb him like a tree. “Racist, and uneducated. Don’t get me started on the American education system. Or were you all home-schooled in your 1984-esque future dystopia?” As much as the words didn’t sound like they should have been flirtatious, Peter was fairly certain that was the intention.

Peter cleared his throat.

“Not to interrupt whatever...that was,” Peter said, gesturing vaguely between the two men. “But shouldn’t we get going?” Peter asked.

As much as Peter wanted to see Wade, this wasn’t his Wade. And dragging their heels would only prolong this mission.

“There’s nothing here,” Cable said, consulting the display on his wrist. “Must have been a mistake.”

“Aww, is pretty boy jealous,” Wade said, focus shifting back to Peter with dizzying speed. That was apparently something shared the universe—universes? multiverse?—over. Wade’s ability to multitask meant he could flirt with five people at once and never once miss a beat. He’d tried it once at an Avengers debrief. The results hadn’t been great.

Peter was not jealous. It was just that his stomach hurt. And they didn’t have time for Cable and Wade to flirt. And maybe he was sorta a little bit jealous. In all their time together, he’d never seen Wade genuinely come on to anyone else. Sure he talked about Cap’s butt, or the Punisher’s pillow-y chest, but that was all over-the-top teasing. Cable was someone real, from Wade’s past. Someone he’d been close to.

Wade backed Peter up against one alley wall, and put his hand beside Peter’s head, leaning in like the bad boy in a greaser movie. All he needed was some James Dean leather jacket, and a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Peter couldn’t help but find it a bit endearing. And also kinda hot. Then again, he always found Wade kinda hot. It was the most surprising thing for him when they started seeing one another—the way he could go from zero to rock hard—the way Wade left him blushing, and wanting to bite the other man’s lips, crawl on top of him and never leave. He’d never felt that way before.

“That’s a pretty color, does it go all the way down?” Wade asked, reaching out his other hand to trace the blush on Peter’s cheeks.

Wade had this way of being so direct, so sexual with his flirtations, but also safe, non-threatening. Because even though he had Peter against an alley wall, he had himself angled in such a way that Peter had ready access to the exit. The hand on his cheek was quick, and then pulled back just as soon to give Peter space.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Peter couldn’t help but tease.

Peter looked over this Wade’s mask. Now that he was looking for it, he could spot the differences. The way this mask looked a little stiffer, less expressive than his Wade’s. The black fabric on his chest had two little blades hidden in the design and there was a shoulder strap that came across his chest like a seatbelt. Subtle differences here and there that reminded Peter this wasn’t his Wade.

Peter felt a light tap on his chest, and looked down to see Wade poking at the necklace hanging out of his shirt, a bright red half of a heart shining in the moonlight with the word “Friends” on it that Wade had gotten him at an arcade.

“What twelve-year-old girl gave you this?” Wade teased.

“We’re in the wrong dimension,” Cable said. Breaking up Wade and Peter’s little bubble.

“What?” Peter asked, still feeling a bit dazed. He looked over to see Cable fiddling with the dimension-hopping device.

“We need to move on.”

“Leaving so soon?” Wade asked, drawing Peter’s attention back to him.

“Things to do,” Peter said, absently. He glanced over to see Cable still messing with the device.

“Should be another minute,” Cable said.

“Busy baby boy,” Wade murmured appreciatively. He smelled like a sorority girl, peach schnapps, and cherry lip balm, that Peter could recognize even through the thick mask.

Peter needed to get laid. When he got back. With his Wade. Even though he was fairly certain his Wade wouldn’t mind sharing him with himself, they’d never discussed the “in case of clones or alternate dimension selves” relationship clause.

Thankfully, they were interrupted by a door banging open in the alley. The noise of music and voices spilled out of it, as did a short, stocky boy with big brown eyes.

“Wade?” the kid yelled.

“What up, Russ?” Wade said, eyes not leaving Peter’s face.

“Firefist.”

“Not happening, kid,” Wade said, finally looking away. “Let’s split the difference and go with Flame-y. Or hey, what about Firestarter? Pretty sure no one’s using that one anymore. Anything’s better than the name you came up with.”

Russ, Firefist, whatever the kid’s name was, sighed.

“Vanessa said if you don’t get your ass back inside, she’s riding Dopinder home, and leaving you to walk back.”

The mention of Vanessa startled Peter. He didn’t know much about Wade’s past relationships, but he knew about Vanessa. Mostly from what he’d managed to pry from Weasel with his “puppy eyes”. All he knew was that Wade loved her, and that she was gone. The only evidence of her was another weight on Wade’s shoulders, and a polaroid of her with dark curls framing her smile, and her arms wrapped around someone with broad shoulders and his face scratched out.

“Gasp. The mouth on this kid,” Wade teased.

“Hey, those were her words, man,” Russ said.

Finally, the kid seemed to notice Wade’s companions. His body language got defensive, and his open expression turned sour as he looked over at Cable. Peter smelled something sweet and chemical-y as Russ’ hands began to smoke at his sides.

“What’s he doing here?” Russ asked, voice tight.

Wade seemed to realize the problem right away, because he stepped away from Peter to go over to Russ and put an arm around the kid’s shoulder. Russ didn’t shrug it off, but rather leaned into it reluctantly, like a petulant kid annoyed but still looking for comfort. Peter wondered who the boy was to Wade.

“Cable’s not staying long. Don’t worry, he and his cute little buddy were moving along soon. No need to get all American Grilled on less old Old Man Logan over there.”

Russ stopped his glowering at Cable to look over at Peter who offered him a hesitant wave. Russ made a face.

“I’m Peter,” he greeted.

“I’m Fire—”

Wade snorted. Russ sent him a glare, and Wade just squeezed the boy against his side.

“I’m Firefi—”

Wade made a noise like a dying whale, pulling his arm from Russell’s shoulder so he could brace his hands against his legs and lean over. He had some sort of fit of wheezing and laughter.

Russell sighed.

“My name’s Russell,” he said finally.

“Nice to meet you,” Peter offered.

Russell reached out with a fist like he was looking for a fist bump, and Peter reached out for a hand shake. He was spared the awkward fist-shake by Cable.

“The device is ready.”

Peter knew they couldn’t linger. They had places to be. But he wished he could stay a little longer here, in this odd world where Wade had a family. Not that his Wade didn’t have people, but he seemed to have really found a good group here. And he wished he could meet Vanessa. Maybe it was a bit masochistic, but he wanted to know what kind of person Wade loved before him; and what kind of person loved Wade before he was ever Deadpool.

“Hope you find what you’re looking for,” Wade said with a wink, and an odd teasing quality to his words.

Just as the dimension was fading away, he heard Wade.

“Ness, I need to change my free pass list!”


	5. Darkerest Timeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows darker timelines mean face scars and lots of angst. What if Peter started out in Weapon X alongside Wade?

**_Flashback..._ **

_ Peter didn’t like having to work with Wade around. They’d only been seeing each other for a couple months at this point, so he still felt like Wade was a guest every time he came over. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the company—he did—it just felt rude to make Wade entertain himself. Besides, the manners instilled in him by May made him bristle at the idea of being such a bad host. _

_ “It’s fine, Spidey, I’ll just keep myself busy. Don’t worry about me,” Wade said, waving him off. “I’ll go through your underwear drawer, try on the Spidey suit, you know, keep busy.” _

_ Peter frowned. _

_ “That’s what I’m worried about,” he teased. _

_ He leaned down to give Wade a peck on the lips, and just like every other time it happened, Wade looked surprised for a second before he reached up, and tried to pull Peter down into his lap. He leaned in, deepening the kiss. Any other time, Peter might have given in, but he really needed to finish this article. _

_ “Jameson will kill me if I don’t get this done,” Peter said. In contrast to his words, he leaned in for another kiss. _

_ Just when it was looking like Peter might be sidetracked from his work, Wade pulled away. _

_ “I guess I can be the responsible one, just this once,” Wade said. “Can’t have you getting distracted and missing the deadline. The last thing that shitheel needs is another excuse to yell at you.” Wade turned him around towards the kitchen. “By the way, that offer to introduce Jameson to my fists still stands.” _

_ “No punching Mr. Jameson,” Peter said firmly, although the image was appealing. “I’ll just have to settle for thinking not so nice things about him as loudly as I can when I see him.” _

_ “That’s sickeningly wholesome. Now, go on. Get,” Wade said, giving him a swat on the butt to get him moving. _

_ Peter sent a half-hearted glare over his shoulder, and wiggled his butt a little as he walked away in minor revenge. Spider-Man could be petty like everyone else. It was worth it to hear Wade’s groan following him to the table. _

_ A couple hours later Peter was starving, but the article was done. He briefly let himself imagine what it would be like if he’d taken Wade up on his offer to help him pay his expenses. He wasn’t cut out for writing and it just stressed him out. Even as he entertained the notion, he knew he would never do it. He didn’t like the idea of his boyfriend having to help him out financially. _

_ He didn’t feel like cooking, so he pulled out his phone to order delivery. As he opened up the app, he went to find Wade. _

_ “Hey, how do you feel about Thai?” Peter called out. _

_ Wade wasn’t in the living room vegged out on the couch. That just left Peter’s bedroom. He stepped over Wade’s boots that he’d left in the hallway, and kicked aside Wade’s belt. He swung open the bedroom door to find Wade sprawled across the bed on his back, a pile of pillows behind him—half of which Peter didn’t remember buying—and a book in hand. _

_ “Thai?” Peter asked again. _

_ Wade pulled himself out of the book. He looked a little dazed, like his brain was still halfway in the book. _

_ Peter chuckled. _

_ “Good read?” _

_ Wade shut the book, keeping a finger in between the pages to hold his spot. He held it up so Peter could see the cover. _

_ “Don Quixote. Felt like a bit of light reading?” Peter teased. “Did you bring that with you?” _

_ “Found it in the closet,” Wade said, gesturing to where the boxes in Peter’s closet were open, some of the contents upturned onto the ground. _

_ “Huh.” _

_ Peter walked over to the boxes, and sat to look them over. The one that was completely on its side was labelled “Peter - High School”. _

_ “I’ve been meaning to get rid of this old stuff,” Peter said, picking up one of the books from the pile, and absently looking at it. Blood Meridian. Too violent and bloody for his liking. _

_ The next book he picked up had eyes on it, overlaid with a tree. It took him a moment to place it as something he’d read Freshman year. It was the first time he’d read something about sexual assault. Just thinking about reading it made something in his chest ache. Before the bad memories could get too out of hand, he put the book back in the pile, and pulled out another. _

_ “Did you like English in school?” Peter asked. _

_ He tried to picture a high school aged Wade Wilson growing up in Canada. He bet Wade was one of those popular kids everyone liked. He seemed like a jock. He probably went to all the parties, and dated some cute cheerleader. _

_ Wade shrugged noncommittally. _

_ “You were what, a chemistry nerd?” Wade teased, seamlessly side-stepping the question. _

_ “Physics.” _

_ Wade nodded, trailing a finger along the cover of the book, seemingly unaware of the motion of his own fingers. _

_ “There’s a lotta sitting around with your thumb up your butt to merc-ing,” Wade said. “I bring books sometimes when I’m staked out, freezing my ass off waiting for a mark to show. Otherwise it’s just a lot of ‘I, Spy’ with White and Yellow.” _

_ Peter tried to picture it—Wade belly-down on some rooftop, a book in hand, and a rifle with some criminal in the crosshairs. He’d always thought being a mercenary would be loud and violent, and it was, but he’d never thought about how much of Wade’s job must have been quiet—gathering intel and patiently waiting for someone to show. _

_ It should’ve bothered him more to think about his boyfriend killing someone, but instead the image reminded him of how little he really knew Wade. Wade told anyone who would listen that he liked Spidey’s ass, or his conspiracy theory that Khloe Kardashian was secretly Elvis in disguise, but when it came to the intimate details of his own life, the inner workings of his mind, that was all locked down tight. _

_ “What kinds of things do you read on stakeouts?” Peter asked. Now that he’d gotten a glimpse, he wanted more. _

_ Wade seemed to shake himself, and that thoughtful look was gone from his face. He tossed the book in his hand aside. It landed face-down, partially open in a way that Peter knew would bend the pages. It sent a thrill of anxiety through him—the part of him that worried about selling back the books—but then he remembered he’d planned to donate these books anyway. Maybe he’d keep that one, given how much Wade seemed to like it. _

_ “Thai?” Wade asked. _

_ Peter sighed. Any other day, Peter might have let it lie. Later he’d blame the low blood-sugar on the way the conversation escalated so quickly. _

_ “Why do you always do that?” _

_ “Do what?” Wade asked. _

_ Peter couldn’t tell if he was playing dumb, or if he really didn’t realize how he shut down Peter’s attempts to learn more about him at every turn. Either way, Wade’s response just made him more annoyed. _

_ “That,” Peter said. “Shutting me down.” _

_ “Gasp! I’d never cock-block you, Petey.” _

_ “And that,” Peter said, gritting his teeth. He pitched the book in his hand back into the pile. It smacked audibly against the other books, toppling the whole pile over. “You avoid my questions, or you joke, but you never really tell me anything.” _

_ “What do you mean, I talk all the time,” Wade said, crossing his arms. God, even his body language was closed off, and it irked Peter. _

_ “You talk but you don’t say much,” Peter said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. _

_ “That’s beautiful, Petey. You writing a song for Stevie Nicks? What’s the problem? I talk like that with everyone.” _

_ “I don’t want to be everyone. I want to know you.” _

_ “In the biblical sense?” Wade said, wiggling his eyebrows. But Peter was too annoyed at this point to be charmed. _

_ “I want you to trust me. A relationship is a two-way street. I can’t be the only one sharing myself all the time.” _

_ It felt like Peter was always the one baring his soul; the one sharing his thoughts and fears. Meanwhile, so much of Wade remained largely a mystery. _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

It didn’t take long to realize they were in the wrong place. Again.

This time, they appeared in an apartment by the looks of it. It was messy. A small studio with a kitchenette off to one side, and the bedroom and tiny living room area on the other..

What drew Peter’s attention was the person sleeping on the bed.

“Did we just break into someone’s house?” Peter hissed in a whisper. He held his stomach, trying to take deep breaths to calm the churning feeling. It wasn’t as bad as the first time, but dimension hopping definitely didn’t agree with him.

He thought he was being quiet, but apparently it was enough to alert the person in the bed, because they were upright in half a second, gun in hand. A knife whizzed by Peter’s head, missing by a hair’s breadth, and only because his spidey sense warned him in time.

“We should be going now.” Peter spoke louder this time, putting his hands up in a universal gesture, of ‘please lord don’t shoot a new blowhole in me.’

“It needs a moment to recalibrate,” Cable said.

“Great, I thought I’d only have to worry about cooldowns in World of Warcraft,” Peter retorted.

Cable didn’t laugh, just kept looking constipated, and Peter wondered if maybe he’d had his humor surgically removed at a young age.

“How’d you find us?” the man said.

It was Wade. This time without a mask. He was scarred, similar to Peter’s Wade, but the scars looked even more irritated and red, as though they were still in the process of healing.

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the bathroom door opened, and in came someone who looked an awful lot like Peter. Right away, this other Peter got into a defensive position that Peter recognized. He was ready for a fight.

“Wade?” Other Peter said.

Peter noticed that he looked younger than Peter was now, and there was a large scar across his face that sliced through one brow, across his nose, and to the other cheek.

Peter knew the moment Wade noticed him, because his face went through the gamut of emotions. Surprise, fondness, and then suspicion. And why wouldn’t he be suspicious, because Peter looked an awful lot like this Other Peter, minus the scar and pajamas too big to be his own.

“So they’re delving into cloning now?” Wade asked, moving closer. Peter would think it an unconscious gesture if not for the way he slowly circled to put himself in front of Other Peter.

“I’m not a clone,” Peter said.

He assessed the room. There wasn’t anything to use as a shield, and Wade was too far away to disarm. Peter could try to web the gun away, but he knew from experience that Wade could be quick on the draw. Deadpool was already formidable when it came to fighting, but if he knew this Other Peter he might have enough insight into Peter’s fighting style to be deadly.

“You’re a shape-shifter then. Is that supposed to be better?”

Peter’s spidey sense hadn’t stopped shrieking since Wade woke up. Clearly, he was ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. But what was stopping him?

“Back to the bathroom, baby boy,” Wade whispered. His lips barely moved, and he spoke quietly, Peter could hear him with his heightened senses, and clearly the Other Peter had similar abilities because he growled.

“I’m not leaving,” Other Peter said.

Wade sighed.

“Not up for debate,” Wade said, tone oddly commanding.

Other Peter flinched a little, and he swayed toward the bathroom like he might do what Wade told him, but instead Peter watched as he planted his feet more firmly, and then reached over to grab something from the floor. A hockey stick. He held it loosely in his hand, shoulders dropping low and loose in preparation for a fight.

“So what, did you guys want to make a prettier version of me, or did you just not get the memo?” Other Peter asked, addressing Peter and Cable this time, some of that Spider-Man bravado Peter was familiar with slipping into his tone. “Weird, considering you guys are the ones who did this,” he gestured to his own face, presumably pointing out where the scar cut a path across his face. Another smaller scar went through one side of his mouth, so his face looked half set in a permanent frown.

“I’m you,” Peter tried to explain.

Other Peter sighed. 

Wade cocked the gun.

“Bored now,” Wade said. “Cut to the part where you want to drag us kicking and screaming back to hospice, and have your wicked way with our DNA.”

Peter’s Wade was teasing, almost light-hearted in a fight. But this Wade wasn’t messing around. Peter’s spidey sense escalated to a piercing wail that left his head aching, his hands cold from adrenaline, and the blood rushing to his legs readying him to move. Judging by that reaction, Wade was itching to pull the trigger.

“I’m—”

“Ten words or less,” Wade said. “Or I shoot.”

Peter bit back the word vomit that he wanted to use to explain himself. Ten words or less. He could do this. He just needed to buy time until Cable could activate the device. Peter glanced back to see Cable frowning. Cable shook his head.

“Uh-uh. None of that quiet, getting your plan together stuff,” Wade said. “Look at me, not each other.”

Peter’s eyes snapped back to Wade.

“I’m from a different timeline. I’m not your Peter,” Peter said, making sure to count each word off on his fingers. And then, because he still had one word left, he couldn’t resist adding: “Jerk.”

Other Wade huffed like he wanted to laugh, but his body couldn’t quite get with the program.

“I’m supposed to believe that? Sounds like some complicated plotting to jump the shark for a comic series on its last legs.”

Peter sighed. How was he supposed to prove himself to a Wade he didn’t even know? 

He turned to Cable, hoping for some help and maybe a plan. A bullet whizzed by, inches from his cheek. Peter yelped. The gunshot left his ears ringing, and his spidey sense sent a stab of pain through his head.

“Frick!”

“What’d I say about looking at each other?!” 

Peter resisted the urge to curl his hands around his ears, but it was a close thing. Other Peter’s face scrunched a little, but otherwise he didn’t visibly react to the noise.

“How do we convince you?” Cable asked, finally deciding to chime in, which was good, because Peter’s ears were ringing like church bells, and the warning from his spidey sense was making it almost impossible to pull any thoughts together.

Peter wracked his brain for something, anything he knew that would prove himself to this Wade, but it was hard to think with his head pounding, and a gun still pointed at him by a man wearing his boyfriend’s face. 

“Weapon X knows everything about us,” Other Peter said. “Anything you know about us could just be them feeding it to you.”

It was like the worst, most dangerous game of Jeopardy ever. What would he know that no one else would?

“Aunt May. She has this lasagna she makes.” 

Other Peter’s glare intensified, and his knuckles looked white where he was still clutching the hockey stick.

“You’re treading on thin ice,” Other Peter said.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh nervously. He was being threatened by himself. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he went to all this trouble of staying alive the past year only to actually kill himself?

“The noodles always end up hard as a rock, and charred to a crisp, and she usually doesn’t put enough ricotta in it. Do you remember that?” Peter said, sending Other Peter a hopeful look.

Peter held his breath. He heard something clicking behind him, hopefully Cable kicking the recalibration into high gear, because they needed out of here a couple seconds ago.

“Should’ve chosen something a little more recent,” Other Peter said. “You guys really haven’t done your homework. It doesn’t work if I don’t remember most of my childhood.”

Peter startled. What did he mean he didn’t remember?

“How could you just forget May?”

Other Peter’s frown deepened. Before he could speak though, Wade stepped in the way, blocking Peter’s view, and shaking the gun as if Peter could have forgotten about it being there.

“You’re not really in a position to be asking questions,” Wade reminded Peter. “You got anything better? Because so far you’re batting zero, buddy.”

‘Buddy.’ Not ‘baby boy,’ or ‘Peter.’ He was a stranger to this guy. It stung, but Peter understood where he was coming from. He’d be suspicious of a doppelganger appearing out of thin air too. Especially when this clearly wasn’t one of the happier universes. 

Something at the back of Peter’s mind that sounded suspiciously like Wade pointed out how face scars were a classic darker timeline calling card. Peter held back the laugh this time. Clearly, this Wade and Other Peter weren’t feeling chummy at the moment, and laughing might just push them entirely over the edge.

“Two strikes, and you’re out,” Wade said ominously.

Peter nodded, breath short. His spidey sense wasn’t just a helpful little danger detector like some people seemed to think. It physically pained him, tugged at him. It took everything he had to stay still with a gun trained on him. Combine that with the knowledge that the person holding the gun had Wade’s face, and he was struggling to focus. But he needed to. There was no guarantee Cable could get them out in time.

“Lemon meringue!” Peter said on impulse.

Wade went impossibly still. Peter saw his finger twitch on the trigger.

“What?” he asked, tone deadly serious.

It felt like the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.

“You couldn’t remember her, but you remembered the pie recipe,” Peter said.

Wade’s hand shook, and his eyes looked wet. Peter wondered if maybe this was a bad idea. If maybe telling this story would just push Wade to end them sooner.

“You told me you couldn’t remember her face. Or even her voice. But you remembered that.”

He didn’t get a chance to see if Wade dropped the gun, or to hear what Wade said next, because suddenly there was a tugging sensation and a bright light. They were standing on a beach. Peter smelled salt water, and heard the distant squawking of seagulls. He spun around to find Cable glancing down at his wrist.

“Good timing. Pretty sure he was gonna make mincemeat out of us,” Peter said, although he wasn’t sure if he really meant it. He could still picture the look on that Wade’s face just before they left. What would have happened if Peter had more time in that dimension? Then again, that Wade had been protective and paranoid, so maybe more time wouldn’t have made any difference.

“We were in no real danger,” Cable said dismissively.

“I’m sorry, what? Were you and I in the same room just now? Because it looked like we were going to get our brains blown out. I can dodge bullets, but I don’t know if I could’ve taken on another me and an angry Wade Wilson.”

“I would’ve deflected the bullets.”

“Sure. Yeah. You could’ve deflected them. Easy peasy,” Peter said, half in disbelief.

“I can create a telekinetic forcefield.”

“Telekinet—That would’ve been nice to know before!” Peter said, pinching his nose, trying to resist the urge to throw something big and heavy at Cable to see if he could deflect that. “Anything else I should know? More surprise superpowers you want to throw into the mix? Do you turn into a wolfboy at the full moon? Wield the power of squirrels?”

Cable stared back, impassively, like a teacher waiting out a child’s temper tantrum.

“You had it covered,” Cable said. “Besides, I need to keep my interference to a minimum. My impact on the timeline has potentially disastrous results. The chronal entropy that could occur might cascade across different dimensions, different timelines. But you...your impact on the timestream would be less...dire.”

Peter took a deep breath of the sea air, and consciously tried to picture the panic and adrenaline falling off of him.

“I’m less important to the plot,” Peter said, taking a page out of Wade’s book and going all fourth wall break, not that he entirely understood what Wade meant when he did that.

Cable’s face did that pinched thing Peter was starting to recognize as him being exasperated, and maybe a little constipated.

“If that helps you understand it better, then yes,” Cable explained. “It’s why I chose you.”

Peter sighed, knowing he wouldn’t get a better explanation out of Cable. Instead, he turned his attention to the dimension hopping device on Cable’s wrist that was whirring.

“Is that thing taking requests? Cause if so, I’d like a nice, calm, gun free place next. Maybe a Starbucks.” Although, given Peter’s luck, it would be a coffee stand in the middle of a gun expo.

“We should be moving on anyway. This was just a pit stop.”

Peter shook out his arms, trying to disperse the rest of the adrenaline. He reached out and grabbed Cable’s arm, bracing himself for the next jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This chapter is based on another story I'm working on.


	6. A World of Shrimp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade’s back at home, waiting for Peter to return.
> 
> (Chapter title is one big Buffy reference)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Wade POV chapter

There was another message waiting for Wade when he left Weasel’s place:

_“Captain’s log, Day Nine.”_ Wade heard Peter snort. He couldn’t help but laugh himself.

_ “No, but seriously, it’s Peter. Cable and I went to a dimension where you were this hairy-chested guy with a porn-stache. You were helping with some alien revolution against an evil warlord. Very heroic. You looked like something out of that show set in Hawaii. You know the one? Who’s the guy? I can’t remember, but you probably would. I just know May’s obsessed with him. I found a magazine with him in it once. It was tucked under her bed. I didn’t get very far before she took it away. _

_ “No luck with our mission in the porn-stache dimension. And then we went to a dimension where it was all shrimp. Looked like the Costco fish section exploded. It was disgusting.” _

There was a pause.

_ “Anyway, hopefully we’ll find whatever Cable’s looking for soon. Sounds like it’s bigger than a bread box at least. But he won’t tell me much more than that. I guess that’s just how he is.” _

Wade heard Peter sigh.

_ “I hope you and May are doing alright. Talk to you later.” _

  
  


Wade stopped by Peter’s apartment for his nightly check-in with Dolly. Although, to be honest it was turning more into an all-day sort of thing. He’d mostly moved into Peter’s apartment at this point, wanting to be there as much as possible just in case Peter came back. Wade’s own apartment had motion sensors on all the entrances, so if anyone showed up there he’d know.

Wade tossed Peter’s mail onto the coffee table, not bothering to sort it. Part of him hoped that little things like letting all the mail pile up, or leaving the milk in the fridge to spoil, would annoy Peter into coming home sooner. It was irrational, but he couldn’t help but hope.

“Dolly,” he greeted. The cat meowed and dug her little claws into his neck when he scooped her up. He kept her propped on his chest with one arm as he made his way to the kitchen to grab her food.

“Peter’s been gone a week, so I figure you’re more my cat than his. First things first, I know he hasn’t gotten you your shots yet, so we’re going in and getting you jabbed with all that good stuff.”

Dolly tore a hole in his hoodie. Wade and the Boxes agreed that was a fair reaction to the mention of shots. At this point the hoodie was more abstract art than clothing from how many claw marks she’d made in it. Wade set her on the counter as he pulled open a can of tuna and plopped it into a dish.

“And then we’re making it official,” Wade said, petting down her back as she licked up the food. “Petey is cute as a button, with an ass you can bounce a quarter off of. But he definitely isn’t creative. No more ‘Kitty.’ We’re getting you a collar, and an official paper with your name on it. And if Petey wants to fight me on it, he can come in here and stop me.”

He paused, holding his breath a moment. Nothing happened. Peter didn’t swoop in to insist on his stupid name for the stupid cat. The only sound was Dolly’s wet mouth noises as she finished off her tuna.

He ordered food to be delivered, getting extra noodles, mild just like Peter liked because his tongue was too sensitive for the spicy stuff. He changed into the sweats Peter borrowed a few weeks ago and never returned, and when the food came he settled on the couch. He stuck Peter’s order on the coffee table beside his own, and ate in front of the TV with the cat who did her best to shed all over his food.

He fell asleep midway through his Magnum P.I. marathon and woke up a couple hours later to the cat’s tail curled precariously near his open mouth, and the leftover food still out on the coffee table. He put it in the fridge after labelling it for Peter, and then went to bed. There were no new messages on his phone.


	7. Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought the dimensions couldn’t get any darker, it gets a bit worse. If only Peter and Cable could visit a nice cuddly dimension with bunnies and marshmallows.
> 
> Also, turns out Cable's been keeping something very important from Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from the comics.
> 
> Also, see the end notes for warnings

**Flashback...**

_ It was beautiful and sunny out. Peter could hear kids’ laughter drifting in from outside the window he’d left cracked, even though Wade complained that the air conditioning worked better with it closed. It was the kind of thing that Peter noticed Wade didn’t care about on his own, but as soon as it came to Peter’s comfort, he’d get a bit fussy. _

_ It took a fair few times after Peter started coming over to Wade’s place for him to stop handing the remote to Peter and bringing him blankets—back when they were still in the thick of winter. He hadn’t gotten over the need to obsessively offer Peter snacks, but that was less of a nuisance, and more welcome, even though Peter did feel like he was going to eat Wade out of house and home. Wade reassured him more than a couple times that he wasn’t exactly hurting for money, and he more than understood the crazy metabolism that came with having a souped up healing factor—if he lost a limb he could put away even more food than Peter. _

_ Wade had a big loft apartment with a ridiculous open floor plan. It looked like something out of a magazine. The first time Peter came over, he was thrown for a loop. He’d seen Wade’s place. Or at least, he thought he had. It turned out, this was just one of multiple apartments Wade rented. It was mind-boggling to think that Wade could afford more than one apartment while Peter was barely scraping by to afford his shoebox of a place. _

_ Apparently Wade didn’t normally live so nicely. The flashy apartment was an addition that coincided with Peter coming into his life. He didn’t say as much in words, but Peter gathered that Wade got it so Peter would want to come over more often—as if his own charm alone wasn’t enough for that. _

_ Sometimes Peter liked to sit out on the small balcony and prop his feet up with a cup of coffee and his laptop that was held together with duct-tape and a prayer. It made having to write disparaging things about Spider-Man for Jameson a lot more bearable when he was drinking a ridiculous sugary coffee drink made by the high-tech machine in Wade’s kitchen. _

_ That was where Wade found him one afternoon. But Peter didn’t have his laptop, or coffee. He had a frown on his face. A frown, which Wade noticed right away when he settled down next to Peter. _

_ “I’m thinking about the future.” _

_ “Well that’s never a good thing,” Wade said, a frown on his face to match Peter’s own. _

_ Peter looked down at his hands, unable to meet Wade’s eyes when he was looking so concerned and earnest. _

_ “To be honest, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Peter explained. It was hard to explain. It felt like back before he’d gotten bitten by that spider, and he’d lean too far forward on a ledge. That swooping feeling in his gut. It felt like when he’d be just about to drop off to sleep, and there was a sudden panic because he knew he’d forgotten to study for a quiz the next day. _

_ “You’re waiting for me to let you down. You and me both,” Wade said, tone joking, but his face looked like a kicked puppy. _

_ “It’s not you.” He winced as the words came out of his mouth. Wade was curling in on himself at Peter’s side, and Peter rushed to explain. “I’m waiting for me to let you down. In my experience, people don’t stick around this long. Not unless they’re Aunt May. Or Ned...sometimes MJ.” _

_ “I thought low self-esteem was supposed to be my brand,” Wade said. _

_ Peter glanced up to see Wade watching him, eyes attentive as always. _

_ “It’s not low self-esteem. Just realism.” _

_ The sides of Wade’s mouth pulled down more. _

_ “Well,” Wade said. “If you’re feeling worried I’m going to leave. I guess I’ll just have to stick around. Convince you otherwise.” _

_ Wade set his legs across Peter’s lap, and Peter’s hand grasped reflexively at one of his ankles. Peter didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. _

_ Someone laughed down on the street. And the breeze brushed through Peter’s hair. Wade legs felt heavy and sure in Peter’s lap, but the swooping feeling in his gut was still there. _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

Peter’s vision was still clearing after the bright flash of light. One would think he’d have mastered the timing by now, but he opened his eyes a moment too soon. The sounds and smells around them were familiar—car horns, people yelling, the aroma of urine-baked asphalt, ahhh New York.

“We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore,” Peter joked.

“You’ve said that already,” Cable said, sounding unamused.

Peter sent Cable a half-hearted glare. At this point he’d mostly given up on getting the guy to crack a smile.

“You try coming up with new material when you’re exhausted from interdimensional travel, and keep seeing different versions of your boyfriend who’s not quite your boyfriend and sometimes tries to kill you.”

At that, Cable frowned. Clearly, he was still trying to work out why the dimension hopper was so stuck on Wade. Peter didn’t buy the whole, “it’s locked onto what you want” excuse Cable had already tried to sell him. If that was the case, why wouldn’t it just bring them back home? That was where Peter wanted to go to the most. Besides, Cable had bragged—not quite bragged, because he didn’t do things like that, which actually just made it even more frustrating—about how the dimension-hopping device was highly sophisticated and could accurately calculate the optimal dimension for their search.

“...I used to think you were funny, but now you’re simply annoying,” a voice said nearby.

“So that’s why you’re not laughing.” Peter heard Wade’s voice enough to recognize it, even far away as it was. “And here I was thinking it was because I’m going to cut you open from belly to neck!”

Peter sighed. He had been hoping for a peaceful dimension. He blinked away the last little sparks of light in his vision, and then turned to make sure Cable was next to him before he approached the voices.

“We should be looking for Hope,” Cable said.

“Safe bet is that whatever exciting thing is happening over there”—Peter gestured to where a huge crowd was forming less than a block away—“is something we want to check out. Wade has a way of finding excitement.”

Clearly Cable didn’t have any better ideas, because he nodded and pulled out his huge ass gun, already heading towards the crowd. Peter bit his tongue, even though he didn’t think going in guns blazing was the best idea.

There was a loud crash and crunch that sounded suspiciously like flesh meeting metal. A groan echoed through the air. Peter saw more than one person in the crowd wince. Some cheered. The crowd was still too thick for Peter to see the action.

“Ouch! That’s gotta hurt!”

Oh no. He recognized that voice. That was him, or this dimension’s version of Peter anyhow. So far, all his meetings with himself hadn’t gone over well, and he had a feeling this would be no different.

“Good thing you have that healing factor of yours...which is more than can be said about all the people you slaughtered!” Peter wondered who this other Peter and Wade were fighting. There were a surprising number of people with healing factors. Wade liked to joke about lazy writing, but Peter thought it was probably because multiple government agencies had gotten their hands on bastardized versions of the super soldier serum or Wolverine’s DNA.

“You’re lucky I’m not like you,” Other Peter continued.

Peter never knew how lecture-y he sounded to the people he was fighting. Wade liked to tease him, saying he was like a disappointed daddy ready to bend someone over his knee. Peter teased him that it was just wishful thinking, and Wade had proceeded to make a noise halfway between a balloon losing air and a shriek. They’d tabled the kinky discussion for another day.

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you for what you’ve done.” Well that was a little dark, and a little extreme. What had this villain they were fighting done?

“Am I? Do you think  _ they _ would let you break character even if you wanted to,” Wade growled.

Peter’s blood went cold. His brain didn’t want to make the connection, but it was becoming rapidly more apparent why he’d only been hearing Wade and this Other Peter’s voice speaking. No one else was fighting. There wasn’t some big bad villain they were giving a talking to. Other Peter was talking to Wade.

“What?! I don’t want to hear any more of your banter, okay? You stole that whole ‘merc with a mouth’ routine from me. You know that, right?” Wade said.

The crowd parted around Cable, and Peter would’ve given anything for them not to, because now he had to see Deadpool’s battered body. How Other Spider-Man held him up by the collar of his suit. Peter’s spidey sense was at a dull roar, and it had been since they arrived, but he’d hoped maybe that was just a delayed side-effect from hopping dimensions too many times.

“And your slice-and-dice routine hasn’t served you well so far, so forget threatening to gut me,” Other Spider-Man said menacingly, shaking Deadpool in his grasp.

Deadpool had been oddly quiet throughout, letting Spider-Man hold onto him. 

“Y-you’re right. I’m not going to cut you,” Deadpool said finally. He looked off to the side, and Peter finally saw his mask. Wade looked pained.

Other Spider-Man was so focused on talking to Deadpool that he didn’t seem to notice how Deadpool reached down toward his own leg. Wade moved too quickly for Peter to warn the other Spider-Man. Peter tried to lunge forward, but some invisible force stopped him, and he had a second to curse Cable before Deadpool had the barrel of a gun pressed against the chin of this dimension’s Spider-Man.

Time seemed to slow down. Other Spider-Man’s eyes pulled wide in surprise, and then there was a loud crack as his head exploded in a spray of blood, red fabric, and brain matter. Peter’s stomach jolted.

Spider-Man’s broken body fell to the ground. Deadpool stood over it, looking down at the remains of the other man. The face was unrecognizable—where there used to be a head it looked like one of those cups people put hard-boiled eggs in only it wasn’t covered in shell and egg, it was covered in brain and blood. It didn’t look like a human body anymore.

“Hmm. Spider-Man no more, huh?” Deadpool said thoughtfully. “You know what all those ‘better psychopaths’ you were bragging about shoulda tried? A gun.”

Deadpool walked away from Spider-Man’s body without a second glance. There were no tears. He didn’t bother covering up the hole where Spider-Man’s head should be. He walked away, and the crowd let him, seemingly too stunned or too afraid to stop him.

Some people started crying, looking upset. Others look unphased in the way only New Yorkers could about such callous violence. And Peter couldn't move. Cable had long since stopped holding him in place, but Peter’s legs felt locked upright.

“We need to get out of here.”

He heard Cable, but couldn’t get his legs to comply. Cable half-carried Peter away from the scene. There was no telling what Deadpool might do if he saw his face and somehow recognized him. Peter flinched at the thought. He wasn’t afraid of Deadpool. He never had been. But this Deadpool was different.

When they were a safe distance away, tucked into another alley, Cable consulted the device on his wrist. Peter watched, still feeling numb. He leaned against the alley wall and took slow deep breaths.

Cable frowned and huffed.

“There’s nothing here either,” Cable said.

“The signal’s gone?” Peter heard himself ask.

“Or maybe it was never here to begin with,” Cable growled.

Peter’s hand stuck to the wall behind him. He tugged a little, but it wouldn’t unstick. His heart was still racing. The wall felt gritty under his palm.

“So pick up the trail again. We’ll keep looking,” Peter said absently.

“Dammit!”

Peter’s heart jumped at the yell.

Cable kicked a cardboard tower of boxes, knocking the whole thing over, and scaring off a cat that had been chewing on something a ways down the alley.

“Where is she?!” Cable yelled in a rare show of anger. Up to this point, Peter hadn’t seen extreme emotion from him. The strange outburst almost distracted Peter from what he’d said.

“She?”

Cable looked at Peter, eyes wide. For a moment, Peter thought he looked scared.

“What do you mean ‘she’?” Peter asked, deadly serious. Had Cable been lying this whole time about the mission? Were they even trying to save the time-stream, or had this all been about Cable looking for some girlfriend?

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“This dimension is a dead end,” Cable said, ignoring Peter.

Before Peter could question him further, Cable was twisting the dial on the dimension hopper.

“Grab on,” Cable said gruffly.

Peter ripped his hand from the wall. Bits of brick came away with it. He placed his hand on Cable’s shoulder, grip perhaps a bit firmer than was strictly necessary. Cable pressed the button, and Peter’s body—wobbly limbs and all—was wrenched from the dimension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: One of the alternate dimension Deadpools shoots an alternate dimension Spidey and kills him.


	8. Sniktpool Plus One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter realizes Cable has been keeping things from him and he is not pleased. Also, they have a run-in with an unlikely throuple. Peter’s not sure if it’s spank bank material or more cause for therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight references to depression and a sexual trauma support group Peter attends in the flashback for this chapter.

**_Flashback..._ **

_“I want to feel like I’m doing something good. I want to make a difference,” Peter said._

_Ned looked at him with big, concerned eyes from over the top of his plate of french toast._

_“Dude, you’re Spider-Man,” Ned dropped his voice to a whisper. “You are making a difference.”_

_Peter picked at the napkin in his hand, and tossed aside a piece._

_Ned and Peter had started meeting for regular brunch dates. After last year, Peter wanted to make sure they didn’t fall out of contact, and he knew it reassured Ned, MJ, and May to know he was okay, so he tried to call and text more often as well. He didn’t know if he could ever make up for how much he’d worried them last year._

_“I just don’t feel like I’m doing enough. I could be doing more. What I do is on such a small scale. The Avengers, the Fantastic Four. They do things that matter. They help so many people. They save the friggin’ world.”_

_“What you do isn’t any less important, man. Just because you deal with smaller neighborhood stuff doesn’t make it smaller in importance,” Ned said, sounding impossibly earnest._

_“You sound like May,” Peter said, tapping thoughtfully at the side of his water glass._

_“Yeah, and May is probably right,” Ned pointed out. “What does DP think of all this?”_

_Peter smiled, amused how Ned refused to call Wade by his first name. It took a while to talk him down from calling him Deadpool, which was too conspicuous to use in public._

_Peter frowned and set aside the remains of his napkin._

_“He thinks I need to give myself time to figure things out. That I should take things slow and just focus on myself.”_

_“He’s right.”_

_Peter huffed._

_“But he’s not. I can’t just take all this time out. Take a vacation. People need Spider-Man. New York needs Spider-Man.”_

_“Dude, you went through a rough patch recently. It’ll take some time to get back into the swing of things. Give yourself a break.”_

_Peter felt his chest tighten a bit at the reminder, a familiar feeling of shame about last year came over him. Now, he barely recognized the person he had been then. He’d been so hopeless, so completely stuck in his own head that he’d nearly ruined his relationship with May, and his friendships because of his inability to get help. He’d nearly given up everything. The thing that scared him the most, was how easy it might be to slip back into that._

_“How is that going by the way?” Ned asked._

_Peter quirked up a brow._

_“How’s what going?”_

_“The support group?” Ned asked, voice sounding hesitant, like he wasn’t sure of the words. “Is it helping?”_

_Peter picked up his fork and took a bite of pancake, mostly for something to do rather than out of hunger. He dragged out the chewing, avoiding Ned’s gaze._

_“It’s fine.” The bite of pancake felt like a lump going down his throat. “Enough about me though. I feel like I’ve been hogging the spotlight. I wanna hear about that new game you’re working on. MJ says your studio is moving into post-apocalyptic survival. What’s that like?”_

_For a moment, Peter thought Ned would call him out on his obvious avoidance, but thankfully he didn’t push. Ned started explaining the new game he was working on, and Peter threw himself into asking about level design and carnivorous aliens, resolutely keeping the conversation focused on Ned and his life rather than his own mess he wasn’t sure how to untangle._

_MJ came to join them, and the whole issue was entirely forgotten. Peter shoved it down to join the other thoughts that came out when his head hit the pillow and the nightly existential crisis inevitably hit._

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

Now that they weren’t actively at risk of being shot at, Peter took a moment to catch his breath. He didn’t recognize where they were, but he was getting used to the fact that this was par for the course when it came to dimension hopping. Right now, they seemed to be in some kind of supply closet, which was as close to safe as they were going to get.

Peter took the opportunity to interrogate Cable.

Cable had a quantum resonance meter, which was a fancy way of saying he had a way to detect dimension hopping. Apparently people like Cable who travelled through time and space built up particular, unique chronal-spatial signatures—kind of like energy fingerprints. His technology should be able to sniff out what they were looking for. He’d explained this all at the start of their trip, but he’d glossed over the finer details. Namely, what or who they were looking for.

“You need to explain yourself,” Peter said, pointing a stern finger at Cable.

The other man, perched as he was on a pile of toilet paper, still made for a fairly intimidating figure, but Peter was done with his cryptic bullshit. Cable pulled his gaze from the device on his wrist. The light from the doohickey lit the underside of his face, making the lines in his skin look deeper somehow.

“What do you want to know?” Cable asked, sounding tired.

“You said we were fixing an instability in the timeline,” Peter said, pinching the bridge of his nose, doing his best to convince himself that punching Cable in the face wouldn’t help the situation. “Looking for something that was lost in the dimensions.”

“Technically, we are.”

The urge to introduce his fist to Cable’s face increased. Did the guy have to be so damn mysterious all of the time?

“Would it kill you to give me a straight answer? I left my home, my own time to help you. I left Wade.” Peter felt a familiar thrum of anxiety as he reminded himself of what he’d left behind. “You said you needed my help. The fate of the whole timestream was in the balance, and I took your word for it because Wade trusts you. So no more of this mysterious, brooding time-traveller, ‘you’ll know when I need you to know’ bull crap.”

Peter crossed his arms, and squared his shoulders, hoping that projecting confidence would make Cable actually listen to him instead of blowing him off like he had before.

“It’s my daughter. That’s what we’re looking for. _Who_ we’re searching for.”

Well that was quite possibly the last answer Peter had expected. He’d prepared himself for Loki or some other magical being, some supervillain that wanted to take over the universe. Not this. A daughter. I mean, Cable was easy on the eyes, but who was going to climb this intimidating mountain of a man?

“She’s not mine, biologically,” Cable said, answering the question he’d rudely pried from Peter’s head.

Cable ran his fingers across a bundle of brown material in his hands. It looked like a scarf, and he seemed to have pulled it from one of the many pouches around his waist. It didn’t look like anything special, but from the careful way he handled it, Peter assumed it belonged to his daughter.

“We were surrounded. I had one of these devices.” he gestured to his wrist, “She had another. Our contingency plan was always to meet up in a previously agreed upon location. She jumped first. By the time I got away and jumped to meet her, she wasn’t there.”

“You had a dimensional meet-up?” Peter didn’t know what his life had become when a sentence like that was coming from his mouth.

“She missed the meet-up.” Cable eyed the mop in the corner as though it would hold the answers to his troubles. “She was kidnapped, and taken to a different dimension.”

“How do you know that? How do you know she didn’t decide to hop to another place, have a little rebellion and decided to play interdimensional hooky? Or maybe she just forgot the meeting place?”

Cable stared him down. For the first time since meeting him, Cable seriously set off his spidey sense.

“She wouldn’t miss the meet-up,” Cable said. “She knows how important the mission is.” His tone left no room for argument.

“Alright, let’s workshop this,” Peter said, hoping to steer the conversation toward a concrete plan. Because so far, it sounded like Cable’s plan was randomly chasing after the energy breadcrumb trail Hope had been leaving behind like some futuristic Hansel and Gretel, which only had them bumping their way into every Deadpool in the multiverse. 

“If she didn’t just run off, who might have taken her?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Cable sniped.

Peter mouthed Cable’s words mockingly, turning to open the closet door. Partially to figure out where they were, and also to get out of such a tiny space with such a large man. Just as Peter was about to pull open the door, it swung outwards, sending him tumbling into a very short, very angry, and very hairy man.

“Who are you?” the man growled.

It took a moment to recognize Wolverine. His face was younger, and his hair was a bit more carefully styled, rather than just looking like he rolled out of bed with a surprised cat on his head, but his face was unmistakable.

“We’re…” Peter looked back at the closet as though there might be a good explanation inside. “Uh...I don’t have a great explanation for how we got in that closet.”

Thankfully, Cable was more than happy to explain about the all-important mission to save mutant kind, and how they needed help. Wolverine—or James as he seemed to go by here—was growly and generally unhappy looking, but he listened. Peter couldn’t tell if Cable did some kind of mind-whammy on him, or if Wolverine could sniff out that they were telling the truth. Either way, Wolverine looked mildly less homicidal by the end of Cable’s explanation.

Wolverine looked them over, and actually sniffed at the air, before he conceded.

“The Professor’s this way,” he said, already turning to walk away. “I was going to find him anyway.”

Cable followed behind, and Peter trailed after him looking around as he walked. The walls were made of a dark wood, and the doors had ornate details. The lamps hanging from the ceiling looked antique and expensive. They passed under tall archways that looked like they belonged in a cathedral. Apparently every dimension’s X-mansion screamed filthy rich.

Cable paused mid-step, and reached out to put a hand on Wolverine’s shoulder, he stopped a hair's breadth away when Wolverine’s claws came out. Instead of the customary adamantium, they looked like they were made of bone.

“You might want to take a detour,” Cable said.

Wolverine growled. At least that was the same about him. These little similarities across dimensions comforted Peter; the smallest familiarity made him feel like maybe he wasn’t as far from home as he felt.

“Your...charges are in the nearest lounge,” Cable said, as though that was explanation enough.

Apparently it was, because Wolverine swore and rushed off.

“What? What’s going on?” Peter asked.

“It seems Wade can’t stay out of trouble whatever dimension we’re in,” Cable said.

Peter followed after Wolverine, curious now. The dimension hopper had led them to yet another Wade. By this point, it had to be more than just a coincidence.

“It’s a glitch,” Cable said, not for the first time. “The device has latched onto you. Maybe it’s responded to your desire to go back home, to your Wade, and it’s trying to take you to the closest possible thing.”

“My thirst for Wade isn’t what’s messing up the mission. Maybe your dimension hopper just sucks,” he said, brushing past Cable to follow Wolverine.

As soon as he stepped into the room, he saw a whole lot of bare skin.

“Christ,” Wolverine swore.

The tangle of limbs on the couch groaned, and wriggled until it resolved itself into two distinctly smooth-skinned bodies.

“What have I said about sex in the common areas?” Wolverine asked.

“Not to do it because it’ll scar the kids,” Wade said in a mocking tone, from where he was sprawled under a hairier looking man. “They’re all gone on some field trip though. So it’s not like they’ll get an eyeful. Besides, it’s not like Wheels isn’t scarring them enough with that danger room of his. Child soldiers are fine, but you accidentally flash one asscheek, once, and suddenly it’s too far.”

“Pretty sure it was a bit more than an asscheek,” Wolverine said. “And it definitely happened more than once.”

“You’re just jealous cause we didn’t wait for you,” the man still half on top of Wade said. This man somehow had even more ridiculous sideburns than Wolverine, although maybe that had more to do with the fact that Peter had grown accustomed to Wolverine’s odd style choices.

“Both of you. Clothes. Now,” Wolverine growled.

“I love it when you get all commanding,” Wade said with a grin.

Sideburns grumbled, and after being bodily pulled off of Wade by Wolverine, pulled on his clothes. Wade followed suit at a more sedate pace, seemingly unbothered about being naked in front of an audience.

He dressed just in time for another person to join the room.

“The Professor will see you now,” the woman said. She had a shock of red hair.

“Heya Jeanie!” Wade greeted.

The woman didn’t respond, her mouth pulling tight in a frown.

“I’m going to go get some supplies,” Cable said suddenly.

The newcomer eyed Peter and Cable in turn, frown deepening when her eyes settled on Cable.

“What supplies?” Peter asked.

“The Professor might be able to help the both of you afterwards,” the woman said, this time directing her words to Cable.

“Thank you,” Cable replied, ignoring Peter’s question.

Before Peter could get more out of him, Cable was already stalking off, trenchcoat flaring out behind him dramatically, leaving Peter behind.

Wolverine and Sideburns followed the red-haired woman out of the room.

“Can’t we just have a conversation every once in a while. ‘Hey, Peter. I need to go get some top secret tech or groceries’ ‘Really? Great. How about I go with you to help, maybe carry some stuff, considering you’re carting me around like luggage anyway?’ ‘Thank you, Peter. It’s so generous of you to give me your time and energy.’”

“Sounds like he’s jerking you around,” a voice said inches from behind him.

Peter startled, barely holding back a yelp. Somehow, he’d completely forgotten about Wade’s presence.

“Sheesh. You’re like a ninja,” Peter complained. His own Wade walked slightly louder, just loud enough not to startle Peter. Peter didn’t know if that was intentional, or if this Wade was just ridiculously stealthy.

“You two need a couple’s counselor, you know? Talk out your problems. Really dig in deep and figure out your team dynamic.”

“That’s...surprisingly decent advice,” Peter said, eyeing Wade curiously. It was disconcerting seeing his face so bare, and not just because of the missing mask. This Wade didn’t have any scars—at least not ones that were visible—save for a cut through one eyebrow that looked to have healed a long time ago. He also had a full head of hair. Not to mention he looked younger. Peter would be surprised if he was even twenty-five.

Peter had gotten used to the landscape of his Wade’s face. It changed from day-to-day, so there were no patterns to memorize, no planes and craters to commit to memory, but sometimes when they were cuddled up in that soft and sated place right after their passionate coupling, Wade would be too calm to be self-conscious. Peter would look at him in those moments, and the moments right before Wade woke up in the morning, and the moments when Wade dropped off mid-Netflix, mouth hanging open, head lolling to the side onto the couch arm. He’d map out the scars with his eyes, his fingertips, his lips.

“Or you could skewer him like a kabob, see how long it takes for him to start sharing and caring.”

“That’s more like the Wade I know,” Peter said, unable to keep the smile from his face. Wade’s tendency towards violence shouldn’t comfort him, but any little reminder of his Wade was welcome right now.

Wade gave him a considering look. His mouth quirked up in a familiar cheeky smile that almost always spelled trouble.

“So you know another me. You and this other me...you and he, do the do?” Wade wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Get it on?” Wade sidled up to Peter’s side, trailing his hand along the back of the couch as he went.

“Make the beast with two backs?” Wade continued.

Peter watched Wade’s fingers walk their way from the couch and then over to Peter’s hand.

“Uh…”

“Cause I see why. I mean, you’re pretty. I’m pretty. We’d be awful pretty together.”

Peter felt his cheeks flush. Wade’s voice never failed to get Peter going. But hearing the voice come from a different face threw him off-kilter. It felt like swinging through New York and going to sling a web only to realize the cartridge was empty—equal parts thrilling as it was terrifying.

Wade leaned in so close Peter felt Wade’s breath on his own lips.

“Growly and granny nails get a bit possessive, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind sharing me for a couple hours,” he said, voice low.

Wade’s hand was on his wrist, resting there, petting at his skin. And his other hand came up to rest on Peter’s waist. Peter exhaled a shaky breath.

_SLAM!_

A door closed somewhere, jolting Peter back into the moment. They were out in the open, in a lounge where anyone—any child—could wander through. Not to mention the fact that this wasn’t his Wade.

He extricated himself from Wade’s hands, taking a step back. Wade easily let him go, pulling his wandering fingers back to his sides.

“I uh-I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Peter stuttered.

Wade’s mouth fell into a pout.

“Aww, that’s too bad. Cause my ass looks fantastic bent over a desk.”

Someone cleared their throat.

Peter turned, eyes probably comically wide as he caught sight of “Sideburns” who was either “Growly” or “Granny Nails” in this throuple, leaning in the doorway, looking deceptively casual as he inspected his nails. Nails which Peter noticed were long and unnaturally sharp. Granny Nails it was.

“Victor!” Wade cried, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. “How’d it go with cue ball?”

Victor didn’t look pleased. Then again, Peter didn’t know if his face was capable of looking pleased. Apparently, Wade thought so too, because he didn’t wait for Victor to reply.

“That well, huh?” he commented.

Wade slunk over to Victor, draping himself over the other man in a gesture that Peter was familiar with from his own Wade. At this angle, Peter caught sight of an odd spot in Wade’s hair. It looked like it had been shaved—for medical purposes or fashion Peter didn’t know. The hair had grown out a bit, but it was still noticeably shorter.

“We’re hitting the open road again, then?” Wade asked.

“Looks like it,” Victor said.

“Jamie’s coming with us this time, right?” Wade sounded almost nervous.

Victor’s hand came up to grasp at the Wade’s neck, petting and kneading at him like one might soothe a cat.

“He’s coming with,” Victor assured him.

“Good. Good,” Wade said, sounding a bit subdued, and then just as quickly his face became animated with excitement. “I can be Ennis! You can be Jack. And Jamie can be a sheep or the horse. We’ll get a tent, and fuck on a mountain.”

Victor chuckled.

“Wade, I don’t understand half the shit that comes out of your mouth.” He sounded fond.

Peter felt a bit like he was interrupting an intimate moment, but the way they were filling the doorway left him little room to escape. He watched as Victor pet at the back of Wade’s neck, and reeled him in for a kiss that lasted an uncomfortably long time before pulling away.

“Come on. Let’s see if we can get some food in you without you trying to shiv a kid,” Victor said, his face taking on an oddly soft quality—it was an expression Peter was sure wasn’t for anyone eyes other than Wade’s.

“That was one time,” Wade said. “And it was a spork. It wouldn’t have done any real damage.”

Peter saw Victor pry a knife from Wade’s hand—a knife he hadn’t been holding earlier.

“Come on, pup.” Victor snagged Wade by the waist, and pulled him out of the door. Before they could leave though, Wade turned back.

“Good luck with that missing kid,” Wade said, offering Peter a wave good-bye.

And then, Peter was left with his own thoughts.

The scientist part of Peter thought Cable’s technology and this whole mission were super cool. The hero and boyfriend parts of him were less happy. The logistics of their trip were looking more and more dubious. They’d been searching for days at this point, and they didn’t seem to be getting any closer to finding Hope.

As their mission dragged on, Peter couldn’t help but wonder when he’d be able to go back to Wade, back to New York. Even though Cable had reassured him a few times that they could travel in time and he wouldn’t be gone long, something told Peter it wouldn’t be that simple. Maybe it was the way Wade used to complain about how much of a flake Priscilla was.

_“He’d say he was gonna be back in a day or two, and show up three months late with no Starbuck’s, just half blown-up, and monologuing about the fate of the universe. ‘Sorry, Wade. I know it was your birthday and everything, but me and my tight blue, future yoga pants had to go save radioactive kittens from blowing up the whole timeline.’”_

_“I’m pretty sure none of that is real,” Peter said._

At the time, Peter was dubious that Priscilla was even a real person, so he’d brushed it off. Now though, he couldn’t help but remember Wade’s complaints about Cable being so blinded by his missions that he was only half present even when he was there; about Cable never coming when he said he would, and if he did it was a day late and a dollar short. What if Peter had unknowingly left Wade for weeks? Or months?

Cable came back a little while later, just as Peter was literally crawling the walls from anxiety. Apparently he’d already met with the Professor, and didn’t see fit to let Peter tag along. Peter just resisted the urge to slap him. With Cable’s telepathy and telekinesis, Peter knew it would be a waste of his time.

“He can’t help,” Cable said curtly.

When Peter asked about his errand, Cable waved him off, saying something about a false alarm. He turned to leave, not even bothering to use his words to tell Peter to follow. As he left, he tossed something into the trash. Peter snagged the crumpled ball of paper from the bin as he rushed to follow after.

Peter smoothed out the paper to reveal letters spelled out in glittery gel pen.

“It’s a joke,” Cable said.

Cable didn’t even bother looking back, just kept walking.

In a messy scrawl was the message:

_In human works, though labour'd on with pain,_

_A thousand hops scarce one purpose gain;_

_In mine, one single can its end produce;_

_Yet serves to second too some other use._

_So you, who here seems principal alone,_

_Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown,_

_Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal;_

_'Tis but a part you see, and not a whole._

“Why does that sound familiar?”

“‘Hope springs eternal’. It’s an excerpt from Alexander Pope’s ‘An Essay on Man’. But they didn’t quote it correctly,” Cable explained.

“You’re sure it’s not important?” Peter asked. “Maybe it’s a lead.”

Cable grunted, and stopped in front of a door in the hallway. Peter shoved the note into his pocket, pushing it aside for now.

“Hey, I thought you could do the hoppy thing anywhere. Why are we going back to the supply closet?”

Cable looked at Peter like he had said something profoundly stupid.

“This isn’t the supply closet. It’s one of the bedrooms. Xavier offered us clean clothes. Unless you want to keep wearing those,” he said, eyeing Peter’s dirty jeans, and his shirt that was beginning to smell more than a little ripe. He’d only managed a few cat baths here and there so far.

“Point taken,” Peter agreed.

As promised, there were clean clothes, and Peter even managed to snag a shower before he changed. His hair was still dripping, the clean clothes sticking to his damp skin when Cable dragged him away.

Cable turned one of the knobs on the dimension hopper, and suddenly there was a light projection above it. Peter didn’t recognize the symbols, but Cable was looking at it like it had kicked him in the nads. He gave it a tap, a twist. Another tap. He was clearly doing something, because the symbols shifted and twitched, and rearranged themselves.

Peter waited patiently, because he was mature like that. And also because it would have been unproductive to ask Cable to explain himself.

Another couple twists and taps later and Peter’s patience was waning.

“What are you doing?”

He glanced around, but everything was the same as it had been the last time he checked. 

“I’m reconfiguring the device. It’s more difficult than I had anticipated. It can’t detect Hope’s energy signature.”

“What does that mean?” It didn’t sound good.

“Someone’s cloaking it,” Cable said, frowning. “I’m switching it to look for my signature instead.”

“Won’t that just lead us back to you?”

“Exactly.”

Peter sighed. He felt like he spent most of the time with Cable sighing. He was going to get wrinkles prematurely from dealing with Cable’s shit.

“How does that help us though?”

“He said Hope warned him about the white-haired man with the strange looking eye.”

“Who did?”

“The zombie Deadpool head. Remember how he almost didn’t talk to you because he saw me?”

“Headpool? How does that help us? So he thought you were creepy. You’re not really helping your case with that trench coat. You look like a flasher.”

“I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it could be a lead.”

Peter still felt like he was missing a whole lot of the plot, and Cable as usual was too focused on his dimension hopper to give him a proper explanation.

The device was making that charging noise that it did before Cable pressed it, and Peter braced himself for the squeezing sensation of being pulled to another dimension. At this point he was almost used to the odd feeling of all of his molecules being pushed through to another place.

“What is the lead?” Peter tried to ask, but Cable seemed done with the Q&A portion of this little moment.

It was just as they were leaving the dimension, that Peter realized he’d never mentioned Hope to Wade.


	9. Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Peter doesn’t come home in time for his weekly brunch date with Ned, Wade goes in his place. The Boxes are convinced it’s a terrible idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wade's POV again
> 
> **[White Box]**  
>  **  
>  _Yellow Box_  
> **

Wade tapped his gloved fingers on the table-top. He saw the woman at the table near his wince, and wave her hand for the waiter, probably to get the check. In fact, most of the surrounding tables had cleared out soon after he sat down.

**_It’s eleven AM during brunch. This place must have terrible food._ **

[ **Pretty sure the crazy guy in the full leather suit and sundress is what’s turning people away.]**

“Come on, I’m not even armed.” He’d tried, but the harness for his katanas chafed against the material of the dress, and would’ve made it pill.

White snorted.

“Visibly armed,” Wade corrected. “Maybe it’s the awful service. The waiter hasn’t even been back with my mimosa,” Wade pointed out.

**_Do we even like mimosas?_ **

“Isn’t that what bougie brunch people drink? Besides, you were all for it earlier.”

**_We should’ve gotten a Bellini._ **

“It’s basically the same thing,” Wade hissed.

The woman at the table next to his signed her check and stood, before hastily grabbing her jacket and rushing towards the door.

**[Maybe you should have called instead of just springing yourself on the kid.]**

“It’s not like Ned doesn’t know about us,” Wade reasoned. Peter had made a point to introduce Wade to his friends and family—well the few civilian friends he had. Most of Peter’s superhero friends already knew Wade by reputation or from working with him.

**[Knowing his friend is dating us and** **_knowing us_ ** **are different things.]**

**_Hey! Don’t go stealing my italics! And besides, Wade’s right. Ned’s cool with us dating Peter._ **

Wade felt White give the verbal equivalent of an eyeroll.

**[I doubt he’ll want to have breakfast with a mass murderer.]**

“Technically, I’m a hired gun. There’s a difference. And anyway, I fit the profile of a serial killer way more than—”

Even Yellow joined in on the eye rolling now.

“I see your point,” Wade conceded. “But it’s too late now so just shut up and enjoy the mimosa we haven’t gotten yet. Besides, he should hear this in person. If Peter’s not coming back anytime soon—”

Yellow whimpered.

“ _ If _ Peter’s not coming home soon, then Ned should hear it in person.”

Before Wade could let himself be talked into leaving by White, or by Yellow’s little crying jag that started after White told him Ned might be afraid of them, Ned walked in.

“Oh god. Maybe he hasn’t seen us. Maybe we can still leave,” Wade muttered, scooching down in his seat. If he sunk low enough he could just go underneath the table and crawl his way out of the restaurant.

Ned’s head turned, and he looked right at Wade.

**[Too late.]**

Yellow whimpered.

Wade lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers in greeting. Ned waved back, seeming hesitant.

**[That’s cause he’s afraid. He walked in expecting Peter, and instead he got serial killer Barbie.]**

“Is that a dig at this dress? Because we picked it out together. We all agreed brunch means we take the bougie yellow sundress out for a spin.

**_Oh no! He’s making his way over!!_ **

“Yes, thank you, Yellow. We can all see that,” Wade whispered. “Ned!” he greeted, louder. “Nedzer. Nederton. Nederino!”

Ned was smiling, but it looked a little tense, like he might bolt at any moment.

“Please, sit. I’ll get us some drinks. If that waiter ever decides to leave the bathroom,” Wade said.

**[I think he’s crying in there.]**

Wade kicked out the chair across from his just as Ned walked over, meaning to push it out for him to sit, but only serving to knock it against Ned’s shins. Ned winced, and sat down.

Thankfully, one of the wait staff came over. Either she wasn’t afraid of Deadpool, or the draw of a good tip was too much to resist. Wade made a mental note to give her a fifty when it came time to pay the bill.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

Ned didn’t seem able to look away from Wade, eyes wide. He looked like some cute little fluffy creature in a nature documentary about to get gobbled up by a lion.

“U-um. A cappuccino.”

“Cappuccino, huh?” Wade asked, as the waitress left.

**[Did you forget how to have a conversation?]**

“I like the foam,” Ned said, voice squeaking a bit like he was nervous.

“Who doesn’t? Foam is the bomb,” Wade said.

**[‘Foam is the bomb.’ Really?! What are we, permanently stuck in the nineties?]**

**_Foooam,_ ** Yellow added helpfully.

“Um...nice dress,” Ned said.

Wade, who had been painstakingly shredding his cloth napkin, perked up.

“Thanks. It was a pain to find. Do you know how few boutiques carry dresses for a 6’2’’ man. And don’t even get me started on Asian sizing online. I’m lucky if I can fit a thigh into…”

Ned’s eyes were wide. It was difficult to tell if that was just general terror at being seated across from Deadpool, or if it was because of all the talk of dresses. Either way, Wade cut himself off.

“Anywho. You may have noticed that I’m not Petey-pie.” The napkin was in tatters in Wade’s hands.

“Yeah. Is he meeting us?” Ned asked.

Wade winced.

“Uh...not exactly. He can’t make it. Peter is missing.”

Ned looked alarmed.

**[Way to go.]**

“You fellas ready to order?” the waitress interrupted.

Ned seemed halfway to an aneurysm. His eyes were impossibly wider than before, and his breathing got all shallow and quick like a bunny’s.

White was busy scolding Wade in his head, berating him for the way he’d approached the issue with Ned.

“Little busy here, Candace,” Wade said.

“It’s Laura,” the woman corrected.

“Whatever.”

“Does this mean you’re not ready to order?” Not Candace asked, eyeing Ned who seemed to be hyperventilating at this point. “Because I’ve got other tables. And it’s sort of the brunch rush. We’ll be running out of strawberries soon. And pancake batter.”

“Uh-huh. Sure thing, Sarah. How about you bring us a couple plates of whatever’s on special and that mimosa I ordered forever ago and mysteriously never got. Maybe another cappuccino for baby face over here.” He eyed Ned who lifted his mug with shaky hands. “On second thought, he doesn’t need anymore caffeine. Bring a couple mimosas.”

The waitress watched them a moment longer, not even bothering to write their order down, because apparently these hipster places were too good for writing things down.

“I’ll be back in a bit with those drinks,” she said.

She rushed off.

“Peter’s missing,” Ned whispered, finally finding his words. “Why are we just sitting here? Where is he? What can we do?”

“Don’t panic. He’s fine,” Wade assured him.

**[Should’ve led with that.]**

Ned took in a shaky breath, still looking pale and shocked.

“Sorry, I should have led with that. May says there’s no need to panic. Peter left me a message. Let me know he’s okay. He’s not being experimented on in some secret underground lab funded by the Canadian government with a hidden agenda to create brainwashed super-killing soldiers. Probably.”

**_Oddly specific._ **

“Is it his...extracurriculars?” Ned lowered his voice to a hush at the last word.

**_What a precious bean!_ **

“Sort of?” This was why he should’ve done this over text. Maybe email.

**[Carrier pigeon]** White added.

“It’s my extracurriculars. My large, grumbly, superpowered silver-fox extracurriculars messing with Petey’s curriculars and making a mess of things.”

Ned looked lost.

**_I’m lost too._ **

“Nate, remember?” Wade hissed. “Cable, one of my pals swiped my Petey-pie away on some world-saving mission. The good news is he’s probably fine. The bad news is, he’s off in another dimension or time-travelling or something, and now I’m stuck at home like a wife watching the sea, waiting for her sailor to come home.”

**_Ahh. Gotcha._ **

“Dimensions?” Ned echoed.

“Sorry, I should’ve called earlier. Or had May tell you. Or Hawkeye. Or Ironman. Or literally anyone but me probably.”  **[Probably]** White agreed. Wade ignored him and took a swig of the mimosa that had made its way to their table at some point, even though he didn’t recall the waitress coming back.

“It’s been a whirlwind of a week. I’ve had to be Petey’s secretary, cancelling stuff and emailing people. Who knew he had such a full dance card?” Wade mused.

**_He should really relax more. His schedule is a nightmare._ **

It was a miracle Peter had any time to spare at all for Wade with how full his calendar was. Looking more closely at Peter’s calendar did make their missed connections these last few months make more sense. At first Wade had thought he was just too needy (White seemed to agree), but he was starting to think that maybe it was just that Peter had zero free time.

“What can I do to help?” Ned asked.

Wade felt an odd warmth in his chest at how quickly Ned jumped to help Peter. It was nice to know Peter had friends like Ned on his side. Most of the people Wade associated with would sooner dip him in a vat of acid or literally stab him in the back than offer to help him.

“Actually—”

“Our house-made fennel and lavender scones topped with poached eggs and a whipped beet compote, organic microgreens, and vegan chorizo,” the waitress announced.

She set down two very large plates with very small portions. The beet mixture looked like bloodied spit foaming out over the biscuits, while the chorizo was a shock of crumbly orange that looked a lot like dog food.

**_It’s a massacre._ ** Yellow sounded delighted at the abstract art on the plate.

“What’s with the portions, Madeline? Do I look like a child to you?” Wade complained.

Apparently already inured to Wade’s presence, the waitress ignored him and cast a bland eye over the table, then asked if they needed any extra sauces.

“This is fine, thanks,” Ned said kindly.

The waitress left the table, continuing to ignore Wade’s attempts to get her attention.

“This isn’t real breakfast, Kimberly!” Wade called out after her.

**[At least we have experience eating dog food.]**

“We were never going to speak of that again,” Wade said.

Peter must have already told Ned about the voices in Wade’s head, because Ned didn’t bat an eye at the odd comment.

Ned picked up his fork and cut into the mass of scone and chorizo. He bravely took a bite of his food. His face scrunched up before he lifted up his napkin to his mouth and spat out into it.

“Peter and I thought it would be fun to try some place new. We normally just hit up the nearest diner for pancakes. It’s cheaper. But he got an A on his last essay, so I told him we should go somewhere special.”

“And what did we learn?” Wade asked, pointing a forkful of scone towards Ned.

As disgusting as the food tasted, Yellow enjoyed the bloody foamy look of the beet fluff, and Wade was more than a little stressed from the past week, so he shovelled the food in his mouth on autopilot. He was always a bit of an emotional eater.

Wade ended up finishing off his food, and most of Ned’s. The waitress brought over more mimosas, and glared every time Wade called her a new name, which definitely meant she was getting an extra large tip.

Wade couldn’t recall having a meal with someone else who wasn’t Peter in a long time, but this past week alone he’d sat down to eat with May a few times, and now here he was eating brunch with Ned like they were old pals.

The brunch rush was gone, and they were probably overstaying their welcome at this point. Ned was red in the cheeks from the mimosas, and more relaxed than he had been at the start of the conversation. White was only too happy to remind Wade that it was partially under duress that Ned joined him. There was no way the guy would’ve come to brunch if he knew Wade was going to be there.

“I know you said Peter is fine. But if we’re just stuck twiddling our thumbs, I’d like to help if I can. I can be the guy in the chair again. It’s been a little while,” Ned said, an excited smile on his face.

Wade wasn’t quite sure what “guy in the chair” entailed to Ned, but Peter had mentioned that Ned was good with computers. And maybe he could kill two birds with one stone—give Ned something to do and avoid having to make nice with the super dorks for help.

“Pete said you used to go all ‘Zero Cool’ on Stark’s systems, minus the destruction.”

Ned stared at him blankly.

“Hackers? 1995. Iconic nerd film?” Wade sighed. “Do they teach you kids nothing?”

**_What are you talking about?_ **

Ned’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Hacking. Peter said you’re good at hacking,” Wade explained.

Ned shushed him, glancing around like he expected an FBI agent to pop out from under one of the artfully weathered wooden tables.

“I used to do that,” Ned whispered. And then, he seemed to really think it over and perked up. “You need me to help you hack into something?” Ned sounded giddy. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging.

“I was hoping you could crack into the Avenger’s mainframe. Do a little digging around in there to see if they know anything. Maybe check out Richards’ files too. The Frustrating Four are always messing around with alternate dimensions and shit.”

Ned choked on his sip of mimosa.

“You want me to hack into Reed Richards’ system?” Ned asked.

“That going to be a problem?”

“I’m going to hack into Reed Richards’ system,” Ned said, with a hushed sort of reverence.

**_Nerd._ **

“That’s the spirit!” Wade cheered.

The waitress came back to their table, nudging the receipt she’d left the last time she came by closer to Wade. Wade lifted up his skirt to get at the secret pocket thigh garter around his leg, which earned him a shocked gasp from someone nearby. The waitress just watched placidly as Wade retrieved a wad of cash from the garter and tossed it down on top of the receipt.

“Keep the change,” he said cheerily.

She snagged the money and pointedly counted it over before leaving, pocketting a portion of it as she left.

“Sorry again for the in-person meeting. I should’ve just done it over the phone.”

[ **I think this is the most you’ve ever said the word ‘sorry’.]**

“No, I’m sorry. I was trying to act cool. I should’ve known I’d weird you out.” Ned shifted in his seat, avoiding Wade’s eyes.

“ _ You _ weird  _ me _ out?” Wade repeated, as though repeating it would make the statement make more sense.

“I know Peter told you about it. I was trying to not be creepy though.”

“Creepy.”

Wade had the distinct feeling of missing something, only for once he didn’t think it was because the Boxes had talked over the conversation, or because he’d gotten distracted. Ned just wasn’t making sense.

“Yeah, you know, about being a fan of Deadpool. It’s still so weird to think Peter’s dating you. I’ve got a poster of you in my bedroom. Oh god! That was even weirder. Not like a nude poster. Just a normal poster. I just—This is getting worse isn’t it?”

Wade tried to breathe normally, but it sounded more like wheezing.

Ned didn’t look much better.

“You’re a Deadpool...fanboy?”

**[I think Ned broke him.]**

Yellow seemed intermittently struck dumb and excited to the point of shrieking. Wade batted at the air as though to shut Yellow up.

“Yeah, you know that time Peter asked you for your autograph?” Ned rubbed at the back of his neck, looking like he hoped the artisanal organic ketchup bottle on the table would swallow him up.

**_Why can’t they just use regular ketchup like regular people?_ **

“The autograph for me,” Ned said. “After Spider-Man and Deadpool started teaming up, I sort of looked into you. I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to be a danger to Spider-Man.”

**[What exactly would he have done if we were?]** White asked dubiously.

“And then I went down this long rabbit-hole on Readit and Quick-e-pedia, and it all kind of spiralled from there. I ended up making a Stumblr and reading a bunch of Deadpool fanfiction.” Ned cleared his throat. “Anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is I’m not a creep, I swear.”

Wade knew there were a lot of weirdos out there, people into all sorts of things. Even serial killers had groupies for god’s sake. But he’d never really come into contact with a Deadpool fanboy.

“You’re a...fan of Deadpool,” Wade said. The words felt odd in his mouth.

“Like I said, forget I said anything. Please, dear lord forget I told you,” Ned pleaded.

“Already done.”

**_We’re never forgetting! We have fans!_ ** Yellow had moved past the intermittent shrieking stage, and now seemed content to rejoice.

Wade silently agreed with Yellow. And he knew later, when he wasn’t checking his phone for the thousandth time for a message from Peter, he’d be trolling the forums looking for Deadpool fans.

Wade and Ned left the restaurant with one of the servers close on their heels, and as soon as they stepped out, the person locked the door behind them even though the restaurant wasn’t supposed to close for another hour.

“Let me know how the digging goes,” Wade said, turning to face Ned.

There was an awkward moment where Wade gave Ned the number for one of his burner phones to contact him, and Ned did a sort of panting thing like he was someone’s terrier who’d just discovered the joy of humping the table leg, but other than that managed to keep his excitement in check.

They parted ways there. 

Wade caught a taxi to take him to Peter’s place. On his way there, another message came through on his phone:

_ “Turns out Cable wasn’t telling me the whole story. Apparently we’re looking for a child. I thought we were on some mission to get research, or technology, or maybe a weapon, but this whole time we’ve trying to find a little girl. This little mutant girl. And instead of raising the interdimensional Amber Alert—maybe getting Professor X or some of the other mutants to help out, he’s decided our little party of two is a good idea. But the guy doesn’t even have the decency to clue me in, so really it’s a party of one with me trailing around after him. _

_ “He’s driving me nuts. He said I was going to be helping him, helping save all of mutant kind. But how am I supposed to help anyone when he’s treating me like a child? Only telling me things when it suits him? _

_ “I just needed to vent. I don’t know if you’re actually listening to any of these, but if you are, thanks. _

_ “In weirder news. I talked to the zombified head of you in an alternate dimension. Talk about ‘Merc with a Mouth’. That was about all he had. There really is every kind of dimension out there. _

_ “Anyway...talk to you later. Bye.” _

Wade listened to the message a couple more times on the way to Pete’s apartment. Once he was there, he puttered about feeding the cat, and reorganizing the books on the shelves first by genre, then by color, then by mood.

When he knocked at May’s door later that evening, she cheerfully informed him that her sink needed fixing. He ended up on his back under the sink, flashlight in mouth, with Weasel reluctantly feeding him instructions by speakerphone, and May in the other room ordering an extra large helping of Thai takeout for the both of them.


	10. The Apocalypse Stinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Cable find themselves in the apocalypse—or near enough. Turns out, the apocalypse smells. And it’s too hot. 0/10 would not recommend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter talks a bit about therapy and Peter going to a support group for survivors of sexual assault/abuse. Keep in mind his opinions aren't my own, I just wanted to show him struggling to accept that he needs help and feeling like his mental health struggles weren't "enough" to warrant help, because that can be a fairly common reaction to trauma.

**_Flashback..._ **

_ Peter had been going to the survivor’s support group for over two months now, and he didn’t feel any different. He wasn’t miraculously happier. He still found himself panicking, hunched over in the bathroom at work waiting for the squeezing feeling in his chest to abate, or getting too into his own head when he was laying on top of Wade on his couch. The hurt and fear over what happened when he was a kid hadn’t left. _

_ He didn’t expect chatting with a group of people to magically fix all of his problems, but he expected a little more progress. It felt as though everyone else in the group was having these cathartic moments, these epiphanies about their lives, except him. He could see the progress they were making. So what was he doing wrong? _

_ If anything, the support group just brought up more shit. More memories floated to the surface. He felt like pond water that had gotten all churned up. While the pond was never clean to begin with, at least all the muck generally stayed at the bottom where it belonged.  _

_ Or maybe he felt like he was a knot of string, and he just kept pulling and pulling to find the end but all he ended up doing was knotting himself up tighter and tighter, and soon he’d be too tangled up to ever free himself. _

_ “I don’t think the support group is helping,” Peter said one day over breakfast. It was a rare lazy Sunday, and even though Peter wanted to think about nothing but pancakes and bacon, or the way Wade looked with the sunlight making his eyes shine and the crease of the pillow imprinted on his cheek, all he could think about was the support group. _

_ “Are you rethinking therapy?” Wade asked. _

_ They’d had a brief spat about it a few weeks back. Wade was insistent on getting Peter help. He’d offered to pay for Peter to see a therapist, but Peter had been against it. Not only did he not feel right letting Wade spend so much money on him like that, but he didn’t think he needed that much individual attention. His problems weren’t unique, and some people had it way worse than him. Why should he take up a therapist’s valuable time? _

_ Peter crumpled the crunchy piece of bacon in his fingers. _

_ “I don’t know if I want to do either.”  _

_ Peter heard the quiet clink of silverware and looked up to see that Wade had set aside his plate and was staring at him earnestly. _

_ “If it’s the cost, I’ve already said I can help. I’ve got money squirrelled away everywhere. Hell, I’ve got accounts even I don’t know about,” Wade assured him, jumping in to help as always. _

_ Peter picked at a loose thread on his sweatpants, probably leaving smears of bacon grease behind, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. _

_ “It’s not about the cost. Well, not just about the cost.” _

_ He looked up to see Wade staring at him intently with his hand outstretched on the table. Wade didn’t make any moves to touch or interrupt him. Peter closed the distance, putting his hand in Wade’s, and some of the tension released from his shoulders when Wade’s warm fingers met his. _

_ “It doesn’t feel worth it to have therapy with just me.” _

_ “You mean, you don’t think you’ll get anything out of individual therapy?” Wade asked. _

_ Peter felt Wade squeeze his hand gently. _

_ “You know, support groups like that aren’t meant to be a substitute for therapy. Real therapy,” Wade said. “Support groups are just supposed to be added help.” _

_ Peter snorted, and dragged his hand away from Wade’s. _

_ “What pop science article did you read that in?” Peter said, tone snappish. _

_ Wade looked a bit sheepish, and any anger Peter felt deflated. He took a deep breath, and let it out. _

_ “I’m sorry. Thank you for doing that. Thank you for caring enough to do that,” Peter said. He reached out to cup the side of Wade’s face, reeling him in for a kiss. He was sort of hoping the kiss would distract Wade from the subject at hand, but no such luck.  _

_ Wade pulled away, and eyed Peter thoughtfully. _

_ “Okay, this is just a suggestion. And feel free to tell me to fuck off, but how about this: you go to therapy for one session. See how you feel about it. If you absolutely hate it, then you don’t have to go again. But if you think it might help…” _

_ Peter wanted to say hell no. _

_ “It just—talking about it is hard. It feels like I’ve got this open wound, and instead of sewing it up everyone’s just sticking their fingers in there and poking around,” Peter said honestly. _

_ Peter felt a tug at his hand, and let Wade guide him around the table and up onto his lap. Wade slowly wrapped his arms around him, giving Peter time to pull away if he needed. Wade felt solid under him. Peter leaned gratefully against his chest. _

_ “It’ll feel like absolute crap in the middle of it. I think that’s just how it goes. Things usually have to get worse before they can get better,” Wade said. _

_ “Stop talking sense,” Peter said, flicking Wade’s nose. _

_ “Enjoy it while it lasts, shortcake. The rest of the time it’s twenty-four seven bullshit.” _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

Cable was clearly upset, but he was also one of those people who was ridiculously functional even when they were falling apart. While most people would have cried or yelled at this latest failure, he barely took a second to be visibly flustered before he was already planning out their next course of action.

There wasn’t much left. As with a lot of the future places they’d visited, this one was rundown, lacking in civilization. In the dark of the night, even with Peter’s enhanced vision, it was difficult to see too far ahead, but even with this limited scope he could see the desolation. Where there should’ve been lit storefronts, and drunks singing on the sidewalk, there were the moldering remains of buildings, decimated beyond recognition. The only hope Peter had was that this was just a lull before humanity pulled it back together.

“We don’t,” Cable said suddenly.

Peter pulled his eyes away from the scorched remains of a gas station to look at Cable who was staring back at him with one blue eye and one odd glowing one.

“I’m sorry?”

“Pull it together,” Cable continued. “We don’t come back from this,” Cable said, gesturing to their surroundings. “Hope and I have been to places like this. Global warming fucks up the planet, droughts and floods ravage crops. And then humanity tries to finish the job. Wherever we go, whatever civilization we find...it doesn’t last. Inevitably the guns are too many, water and food too scarce, and then well...you can guess the rest. The human race unfailingly turns towards entropy.”

In the distance, Peter could just make out a coyote picking through a pile of trash. He expected it to spook as they got closer, but the thing didn’t run, just watched them approach, baring its teeth.

“You must be a hoot at parties,” Peter teased, but the joke fell flat on his tongue.

Cable’s words painted a bleak picture. Peter couldn’t imagine people turning on each other like that. He’d seen the very worst of humanity—murderers, rapists, people who truly reveled in other people’s pain—but still couldn’t imagine a future where humanity was driven into hidey-holes, scrambling for resources, biting at each other like starving dogs.

Peter had an odd moment of recognition about their environment. Pre-spider bite, he’d visited Ned’s relatives in California. They lived near the Mojave Desert, and during the day it had been so arid and blistering that he’d gotten heat exhaustion. He spent the rest of the day miserable and dry heaving after nearly passing out. But at night, he remembered how it got so cold. The sheer contrast of day and night, the prickle of heat with the sun high in the sky, and then dry cold after sundown. He recognized that feeling now.

“In another fifty years or so, humanity on Earth will be entirely wiped out. The last stragglers, mostly mutants, will die out. Nobody will have been able to breed for years. No new children means the population isn’t growing. No population growth plus nuclear fallout, and your United States starting wars with alien species it wasn’t prepared to finish, means the end of humankind as you know it.”

“We go extinct,” Peter finished.

Suddenly apocalyptic seemed an uncannily apt description for this place.

“Not entirely. Some humans make it off-planet—go to other worlds to try to start again. And some people...evolve.”

“And Hope has been growing up in places like this?” Peter asked.

He thought he had a rough childhood, but at least he’d had a home; a place to kick off his chucks and eat home-cooked meals. May and Ben had always made sure he had that.

Their walk was silent after that. As much as Peter was curious, he was also wary of prying any further, because he didn’t want to hear anymore about the destruction humanity went through, especially because he had no way of knowing if this was a possible future for his own world.

Cable seemed to be following the railroad. Peter couldn’t tell if that was for a specific reason, or if it was just convenience. They walked for another hour or so before Cable finally slowed down, which was good, because Peter was in shape, but he was much more used to swinging for long periods of time rather than walking. Not to mention, the heat was getting to him, even with the sun still low in the sky.

“This should do,” Cable said, gesturing towards a warehouse. It had a big overhead door and small windows up high that Peter could climb in and out of if he needed to, but that most people would have difficulty getting into. The place looked relatively intact compared to some of the buildings they’d passed by.

Peter heard Cable’s arm whir as he pulled up the door, making Peter wonder yet again about the hulking metal arm that almost looked like it was grafted onto Cable rather than attached like a normal prosthesis. 

The metal of the door creaked and groaned from disuse, sticking a little, but then it swung up, releasing stale air. The warehouse may have been abandoned by humans, but it looked like in their stead, spiders and scorpions had taken up residence. Peter webbed up two hammocks for them, since the ground didn’t look like an entirely friendly place to sleep.

“I’ll take watch,” Cable said. Not “first watch,” just “watch.”

Ever since the start of this whole mission Cable kept them in constant motion. The only time they ever stopped was to rest for the night, and even that time was woefully short because Cable always seemed to wake Peter up a few hours shy of a full night’s sleep. Cable never seemed to slow down.

After giving the place one last lookover, and taking some sips from their measly water rations, Peter climbed into the hammock to settle down for the night.

“Wake me for next watch,” Peter said, knowing his words probably fell on deaf ears.

He looked over to see Cable levitating, sitting cross-legged and upside down. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that when they were supposed to be resting.

“You just do...that,” Peter said.

“I’m meditating,” Cable said. As if that was an acceptable explanation for his behavior.

“Yeah, sure. Meditating,” Peter echoed. Because levitating upside down was so relaxing. Although, he was one to talk, his go-to thinking position was clinging to the corner of the ceiling like an actual spider, limbs curled in towards his body—a fact which Wade never failed to point out was freaky. Wade was scarred after the first time he got up in the pitch black of the night, only to find Peter in his preferred thinking position on the ceiling of the living room.

Cable didn’t wake Peter for watch. He woke Peter at dusk with a hand over his mouth to hush him, and a wary look in his eyes. Peter wisely stayed silent as they left the warehouse. Instead of continuing to travel on the surface, Cable located a hatch in the ground and led them down into a tunnel.

“The apocalypse stinks,” Peter commented, kicking aside a rock. The walls felt like they were pressing in, and he was trying not to think about how they were hundreds of feet underground.

Cable gave him a look. Not a glare. Worse. It was a “dad look,” like he was feigning curiosity at something his idiot kid had just said. Cable always seemed to have a “dad” way about him, but not the fun kind of dad who let you play hooky to buy ice cream; one who spent all day in his study looking at spreadsheets.

“Literally,” Peter said, covering his nose. The smell of decay and refuse was nearly unbearable to his heightened senses.

Cable nodded, and kept leading them through the tunnels. Even with his superior eyesight, Peter was having trouble making anything out more than a foot or two in front of him. Lord knew how Cable was navigating through the maze, not that he would ever explain it to Peter.

“That would be the sewage,” Cable explained. “The sewage system was one of the first modern amenities to fail. The electrical system went down, causing a cascade of chaos—phone lines went down, the internet. Almost overnight North America went into the Dark Ages.” Peter swore he saw Cable’s mouth quirk up as he spoke, like he was amused at his own half-hearted pun.

Peter reached out a hand to feel along the wall beside him, and then instantly regretted it when it came away sticky.

“I’d wash that off if I were you,” Cable advised.

Peter tried to look at what was on his palm, but it just looked like dark goop.

“Is it toxic?” Peter asked.

“Not exactly.”

Very helpful. As always. Peter took a slow-deep breath in and out. There was no need to lose his shit now.

“How do you know all this?” Peter asked, trying to push aside his annoyance, and the disgust at the goop on his hand. He shook it off a little, but the hand still felt viscous with the stuff. “Are you from this timeline?”

Cable paused, seeming to think. He did that a lot, like every sentence was carefully planned. The man was a control freak even with his words. He probably didn’t blow his nose without pausing to brood about it for a minute and a half first.

“In a way.”

Peter sighed.

“I’ve visited here,” Cable explained. “I’ve visited a lot of places. I’m not from any of these places though. I had to leave my time.” He sounded mournful, and Peter felt a tinge of guilt at prying. 

“I know this place better than most,” Cable continued.

“What are these tunnels?” Peter asked.

Cable led them left, and Peter resisted the urge to ask again where they were going.

“The people who used to live here dug these underground tunnels so they could move around during the day. It’s too hot most of the day to be moving on the surface. This area should be empty of people though. There was an infestation last time I was here.”

“Infestation?”

Peter hoped it didn’t have anything to do with the creepy goop on his hand.

A few minutes later, just as Peter was about to try again to weedle more information out of Cable, they stopped in front of a steel door.

“That’s new,” Cable mused.

Cable reached out and knocked an odd pattern. The noise reverberated through the tunnels, echoing in Peter’s ears.

Peter could just make out footsteps on the other side, and the heavy click of a weapon being cocked.

The door swung open. And behind it was half a dozen guns and what remained of the human race.


	11. Old Man Wade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cable and Peter meet what’s left of humanity on earth. Another Wade is at the center of it all. Plans are made. Peter worries.

**_Flashback..._ **

_ “Those kids are gonna have years of therapy,” Peter said, feeling a squeeze of something like sympathy in his chest—or maybe closer to empathy. They had years ahead of them, hopefully years that would dull the pain of what happened to them. _

_ He took a breath, and focused on the cold of the roof under his butt, the sound of dozens of footsteps down below. He was here, and in the present moment. Wade was silent at his side, hands clenched on the edge of the roof, legs motionless where they hung over the side. He’d usually be humming, kicking his legs against the side of the building, or maybe chatting with the Boxes. Wade was rarely this still or silent. _

_ “Are you mad?” Peter asked. _

_ Wade’s head turned finally. The blank white eyes of the Deadpool mask stared back at Peter. _

_ “At me,” Peter clarified. “Are you mad that I stopped you?” _

_ Wade’s expression was oddly unreadable. The flashing blue and red from the lights on the squad cars down below danced across the side of his face. His jaw looked locked tight, like he was clenching his teeth together. _

_ “I’m...confused,” Wade said finally.  _

_ Peter kept quiet, knowing that sometimes Wade needed a moment to get his thoughts together. _

_ “I just don’t understand,” Wade said. Peter saw the frown of his mouth, tugging the mask into little furrows at the sides. “Why should he get to live after what he did? After what he did to her. To them?! Why should any of them have any right to keep breathing when—” Wade’s words cut off in a gasp of breath, like he was too overcome by his anger to even speak. _

_ Wade turned his head, seemingly looking back down at the circus below where the cops were rounding up the rest of the traffickers. The people they’d saved—the children—had already been bundled up into ambulances, and taken to be checked over at a hospital. Their night was just beginning. _

_ Peter’s heart clenched for the hurt Wade was feeling, as well as for the girl they’d been too late to save; for all the people who’d been taken by those men. _

_ “When I first became Spider-Man I was a cocky little shit,” Peter said. _

_ Wade snorted, but the sound was humorless. _

_ “I’m serious,” Peter said, grateful that Wade was still reacting rather than just shutting down, shutting him out. “I thought that having all this power meant I could do anything I wanted. Why else would I have been bitten by that spider, right?” _

_ Wade cocked his head to the side like he was listening—hopefully to Peter and not one of the Boxes. _

_ “And when Ben died.” Peter toyed with the fabric over his fingers. It was an old hurt, but talking about it always felt a bit like poking at the wound. He forced himself to put his hands back down, and look at Wade. “When Ben was shot. I wanted payback. I wanted revenge on the son of a bitch who did it.” _

_ Wade jerked a little. _

_ “I was going to kill him.” It would have been so easy. Sometimes Peter still had dreams where he found the man, where he wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and just snapped it. He had nightmares where he dangled the man who killed Ben off the side of a building and just let go, only to wake up right as the man’s body hit the ground.  _

_ “I was ready to kill the man for shooting Ben, because he’d taken away the person who was like a father to me. One of the only bits of my family I had left.” _

_ “Why didn’t you?” Wade asked, voice oddly soft for how tense he looked. _

_ Peter tapped a finger at one of his web-shooters—not enough to set it off. _

_ “I thought about May’s face. What she would look like if she saw me like that. How disappointed she’d be.” _

_ Wade hemmed at the back of his throat, a small, discontented noise. Peter longed to reach out for him, to reel him in with an arm around his waist, or wrap him up in a hug, but he didn’t want to push. Instead, he kept talking. _

_ “And then I thought about how, if I killed him, I’d be one step closer to being like him. I’m not stupid enough to think that everything’s black and white. I know the world’s more gray area than not. But I choose not to kill. Every time I put on this suit, every time I go up against a bad guy, I’m choosing to hold back. I have all this power, and I make the choice every second of every day not to misuse it.” _

_ That was something he’d never been able to explain properly to Ned or May. How could you ever explain something like that when they had no possible way of understanding what it was like? He didn’t just have the ability to kill or hurt people, it was a very real possibility every time he reached out and touched someone. Other people weren’t like him. He was different even down to his DNA. And with all that power, came the responsibility to keep it in check. _

_ “There has to be a line,” Peter said firmly. _

_ He stared at the side of Wade’s mask. _

_ Peter felt a warm weight settle on his hand, and looked down to see that Wade had let go of his tight hold on the edge of the roof to put his hand over Peter’s. Neither of them said anything, but Peter saw Wade’s shoulders finally droop a little. _

_ The sound of a cop car door shutting down below echoed into the night. Peter and Wade stayed there, sitting at the edge of the roof above for another couple hours. They watched as all of the men they’d fought that night were cuffed and taken away. They watched as forensics came to the scene and gathered evidence in little baggies and took those away too. _

_ They watched until the flashing red and blue lights were gone, and all that was left was a circle of yellow police tape wrapped around the building. And even then, they sat, side-by-side, staring off into the night. _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

After almost being shot on sight, and what would have been a comical back-and-forth of “Who’s on First” proportions if not for the guns pointed in Peter’s face, it was determined that Cable was not in fact an evil dictator. Apparently someone with his face was running around terrorizing this dimension.

A suspicious pat-down, and a few semi-invasive tests later, and Peter and Cable were let into the bunker. The bunker that apparently held the last remnants of humanity huddled inside like sardines in a tin can.

It looked like something out of Fallout, with terminals humming by the door, dingy lighting, and a ragtag group in a mix of military fatigues and jumpsuits. At the head of the group was another Wade. This one was bare-faced, and had sandy blond hair that was shorn close to the scalp, militaristic in its orderliness.

“Stryfe?” Cable said by way of greeting. As though the word was supposed to make some kind of sense.

Wade nodded grimly.

“We’ve been...off-world. What happened?” Cable asked, succinct as always.

Wade eyed Cable thoughtfully. The other survivors around Wade shifted uncomfortably—five in total who all kept close to Wade. Most of them seemed to keep a careful eye on Cable. None of them had put away their guns, save for the nurse who took their temperature and ran their DNA when they came in.

Wade rubbed at his chin, his fingers stroking across a scar.

“Canada collapsed trying to take in refugees. Europe was a shitshow. America was still getting back on its feet. He showed up on the scene a year ago. The president fucked off to golf or bang his mistress or something, and Stryfe stepped in. Didn’t take long for him to get a loyal following. Had them worshipping him like a god. All in all, it was about four months for him to wipe out the opposition.”

Cable nodded, looking grim. He wasn’t the easiest to read, but if pressed, Peter would’ve said he looked distressed.

“Survivors?”

“What was left either went underground—literally—or left to settle other planets. Japan might still be standing. We lost radio contact. But in terms of free Earthly humanity in North America, you’re looking at it. Plus a handful of nerds in the labs. You guys got out just in time.”

“I take it you know me?” Cable asked. “Otherwise I doubt you’d be rolling out the welcome wagon.”

Wade chuckled.

“Your face is knocking around in here somewhere,” Wade said, rapping his knuckles at the side of his own head. “Let’s get you up to speed.”

Wade brought Peter and Cable to his “command center”. It was a room with a corkboard on one wall, covered with drawings and maps and a web of red yarn, and a big table covered in more maps. The other survivors split off, going deeper into the bunker, save for one woman with a white mark around her eye like someone spilled watercolor paint onto her skin. She followed closely behind, gun in hand.

“Domino and I have managed to piece together some maps from the surface, and line them up with the tunnels. Comes in handy for supply runs. We should be able to find you a way out if you’re on your way somewhere,” Wade said, nodding to the woman at his side. “He’s got patrols here, and here”—he gestured to the map—“but if you time it right you should be relatively safe.”

Cable leaned over the maps, brow furrowed in thought. He seemed to study where Wade was pointing. He traced the same paths with his flesh finger, and tapped at the paper decisively before speaking.

“We’re going to kill Stryfe,” Cable said.

That was the last thing Peter expected to hear.

“Excuse me, we’re going to what?!” Peter very much did not sign on for murder when he agreed to join Cable’s mutant-saving mission. 

Domino raised a brow. Wade looked like Cable just proposed they run around buck naked in a puddle of radioactive goo. Peter felt about the same.

“Oh yeah, Rambo? You and what army?” Wade asked.

“You won’t make it two feet before Stryfe cuts you down,” Domino said. “You and Chicken Arms over there won’t stand a chance.” She nodded towards Peter. “No offense.”

“You have, what, thirty people in here?” Cable mused. “Even half of that should be enough.”

Wade’s amused expression sank, his mouth pulling into a tight line.

“No,” Wade said coldly.

Peter felt his spidey sense spike. Suddenly, there was a knife in Wade’s hand like it had always been there. Cable finally looked up from the table. He didn’t make any moves to arm himself.

“Not quite an army, but it beats just me and ‘Chicken Arms’,” Cable said matter-of-factly. “Stryfe needs to be stopped.”

Domino’s hand on her gun twitched, but she didn’t aim, didn’t shoot, seemingly waiting for Wade’s next move. Wade’s jaw clenched, his shoulders looked tensed for motion. Peter watched as he took a slow breath.

“You want to take these people with you on your suicide mission? You want them to hand over their lives so you can take a potshot at Mr. Dark Lord himself? I’m gonna need a lot more than you breezing into our little bunker and deciding you want to be a badass.” Wade stared Cable down, hand still wrapped around the hilt of his knife.

Cable stared right back.

“You said it yourself. Stryfe’s wiped out his opposition. He took advantage of the situation to put himself into power. Meanwhile, what’s left of humanity is off-world or hiding in the ground, scrounging like rats. Stryfe is a murderer, and a tyrant.”

“We seem to be getting by just fine,” Wade said, not sounding entirely convinced. “Why should we change things just cause you’ve got an itch to be the big damn hero?”

“Because, how long do you think before he decides to upset your status quo? How long before he’s not content to let you stay holed up in your little bunker? Before he decides to snatch up the rest of you, or pick you off one by one just for kicks?”

Wade looked thoughtful, brow furrowed. He stared at Cable a moment longer before finally, he seemed to come to a decision. He put the knife in his hand down on the table. Domino’s hand on her gun visibly relaxed.

“Do you have a plan beyond ‘kill Stryfe’, or are we just meant to go in guns ablazing?” Wade said.

Cable didn’t look surprised. He must’ve known he’d be able to convince Wade. 

“I’m sorry, can we go back to the part where you want to kill someone?” Peter asked.

The others all looked at him with varying expressions of surprise and judgment, as though they’d forgotten he was even here.

“Where’d you pick this kid up?” Domino asked. Peter felt her eyes on him again, and he couldn’t help but be offended at the pity he saw there.

“There’s gotta be another way,” Peter insisted.

There was always another way. Spider-Man didn’t kill people.

“Stryfe isn’t gonna stop just because you ask real nice, kid,” Wade said.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with convincing Wade and Domino, he turned to Cable.

“Why even go after Stryfe? I thought we weren’t going to interfere in any of the dimensions,” Peter pointed out.

Peter saw Domino shift on her feet out of the corner of his eye.

“Why do you think we came here?” Cable asked, sounding entirely too condescending for Peter’s razor-thin patience to handle. Just as he was about to say as much, Cable continued.

“Stryfe has Hope. The zombie head told us as much. He was afraid of someone who looked like me, someone with white hair and an eye like mine. There’s only one other person with that physical description. Stryfe is my clone.”

Peter felt his train of thought stutter and stall. Clone?

“Okay, we’re going to ignore the thing about you having a clone for now, because I’ve already reached my daily limit for ridiculous sci-fi situations. Putting that aside, nothing you’ve said suggests that Stryfe is the one who took Hope.”

“He has her.” Cable’s jaw was set.

“Are we gonna do this, or should we let you two finish your little lover’s quarrel?” Domino cut in.

“We’re doing this,” Cable said, answering for the both of them.

Peter huffed.

Wade eyed him, before addressing Cable.

“Clearly you know what I can do. And I’m familiar with the skills my people bring to the table. But what about you? What can you do?” That assessing look was back in Wade’s eyes. It was odd to see Wade be so to-the-point. This Wade didn’t waste as much time flirting or teasing. It was as though the apocalypse had pared him down—whittled him away to the bare essentials.

“I’m a mutant. I can read minds, and I’ve got telekinesis,” Cable said, for once dispensing with his need to be cryptic.

“That’s all well and good, but do you know what you’re doing?” Domino asked, fixing Cable with a dubious look.

“I was born and raised a soldier,” Cable informed her soberly. “I’ve been fighting longer than you’ve been alive.”

Domino stared him down a few moments more before she met Wade’s eye and nodded.

“So we’ve got a telepath slash telekinetic who’s got a huge ass gun. What about you, baby face? What do you bring to the table?”

Peter startled when he realized Domino was addressing him. He stepped back from where he’d been leaning in toward one of the maps, inspecting the tiny push-pins stuck in an incomprehensible pattern on it. Wade didn’t say anything, just watched Peter along with Domino, his eyes curious and assessing. Somehow Peter felt even more like they could see through him than Cable could with his mind-reading.

“I’m strong,” Peter offered. He winced at his own tone of voice that made it sound like a question.

Domino had one brow raised, stretching the mark around her eye.

“And I can stick to stuff,” Peter added more confidently.

Domino snorted. Wade’s features pulled into an unreadable expression, one that made the scars crumple and pull like spider webbing.

To demonstrate, Peter reached out and stuck his palm to a brick that was being used to weigh down one of the maps. He lifted his hand, palm down, bringing the brick along with.

“You can stick to stuff,” Wade repeated. He crossed his arms, not batting an eye at the display. “Anything else that might be useful in that bag of tricks, Krazy Glue, or is that it?”

Peter let the brick drop to the table.

“Kid’s got an ability to sense attacks before they come. Not quite precognition, but near enough,” Cable said.

Peter shouldn’t have been surprised that Cable knew this kind of thing. There were few secrets where telepaths were concerned. It was why he usually avoided Professor X the few times he teamed up with the X-Men.

Quick as a flash, there was a glint of light, and a buzz of Peter’s spidey sense. He caught the knife inches from his own face.

“Huh,” Domino commented, hand still outstretched.

“Dom. What did we say about throwing sharp things at guests?” Wade said, tone mock scolding.

“Wade. They’re not exactly guests,” she said around a cheerless smile. “Besides, Sticky Palms is fine. Not even a scratch on him.”

“Peter,” Peter corrected.

“‘Peter’ is fine,” Domino said, reaching out to retrieve the knife from him. He set the knife in her palm after only a moment’s hesitation. “That’s some talent there,” she said appreciatively.

“Speaking of hidden talents...Tin man, does that arm of yours do anything useful besides shine real pretty?” Domino turned to Cable this time.

Peter found his eyes fixing on Cable’s metal limb. At this point, he’d mostly pushed the issue of the arm to the back of his brain. With so many other pressing issues to worry about, Cable’s left arm being made of metal seemed like the bottom of his very long, very complicated list of things to worry about.

Now the arm was front and center. Domino and Wade were focused on it, eyeing it with similar calculating gazes.

Cable shifted, not hiding the arm exactly—it was already mostly hidden under the long sleeve of that ridiculous trench coat he was always wearing—but clenching his metal fingers, seemingly trying to make it a smaller target for their eyes.

“Nothing that’s useful for our purposes,” Cable said. This was probably meant to get the other two to redirect their questions elsewhere, but it seemed to only make Wade more curious.

“How’d you get your hands on that thing, anyway? It looks shiny and new,” Domino said, tone neutral, but the words hinted at her mistrust. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I keep it clean.”

Domino didn’t ask any further about the arm, but Peter could tell her suspicion wasn’t entirely settled. And he doubted Wade’s suspicion was completely put to rest either.

Once they’d taken stock of their abilities, they started planning. Peter wasn’t much help in the strategy department. Usually he had fairly simple plans, considering he largely dealt with simple villains. Most of the people he dealt with on the day-to-day were small-time crooks. Wade and Cable on the other hand clearly had extensive military knowledge at their disposal.

Before they could get too far into planning though, Peter cut in. His conscience wouldn’t let him stand idly by while they concocted a murder. As destroyed as this world was—as decimated as humanity was—he had to hope they could come back from it. Maybe it was naive, but he wasn’t about to let their revolution become a bloodbath.

“I’ll go along with whatever plan you come up with, but you have to promise to try to reason with Stryfe.”

Domino rolled her eyes. Peter ignored her, and continued. 

“You’re going to do whatever you need to do to subdue him, and then you’re going to start with talking. We may not need to kill him to stop him.” He had to hope that there was a bloodless way to end this fight.

Cable looked back at Peter, his eyes searching Peter’s face. Maybe he was reading Peter’s thoughts, trying to see if there was wiggle room in the conversation.

“Fine,” Cable said. “I’ll do my best to reason with him.”

It wasn’t quite the agreement Peter was looking for, but he had a feeling it was the beest he was going to get from the man.


	12. Showdown at High Noon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our mysterious note-sender might have struck again.
> 
> Also, things don’t entirely go to plan.
> 
> Buckle up for a longer chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some discussions of depression and other mental health issues in the flashback for this chapter.
> 
> (See the chapter's end notes for more warnings, they're a bit spoiler-y)

**_Flashback..._ **

_“I was going to make pie for May.”_

_It had been a while since they’d been able to find the time to see her. Peter knew Wade was looking forward to it. At least, he’d been excited before. Right now he didn’t seem capable of being excited about anything. Peter knew the feeling._

_Wade looked dopey, like he was looking at Peter through Jell-O, and Peter wasn’t sure if he should try to pull him out of it, or let him keep listing against the counter, internally arguing with the Boxes. It was odd to see depression from the outside rather than deep in the thick of it. Was this what Peter looked like when he practically shut down last year?_

_“I don’t know how to make a lemon meringue pie.”_

_The sticky-note written in Wade’s chicken scratch that said, “Lemon Meringue Pie” along with an oddly detailed doodle of what the pie should look like, while nice to look at, wasn’t exactly helpful._

_Wade blinked slowly. Peter didn’t know if he’d heard what Peter said. Wade sounded off, and his eyes looked distant like he was seeing the room through a blurred lens._

_“I mean, I could probably just look it up on my phone,” Wade mused, still sounding like he hadn’t registered Peter was even there._

_Peter pulled out his phone, hoping to find an easy recipe. How hard could baking be, right? It was like chemistry._

_Before Peter could pull up a recipe, Wade jolted. And then, like a marionette being pulled on its strings, Wade moved, woodenly making his way to the fridge to pull out some eggs and butter. Peter watched as he opened a cupboard next and grabbed a big metal bowl. He paused, head tilted, and Peter saw him make an aborted move towards another of the cupboards before shaking his head and muttering._

_He grabbed a lemon and a zester, and made a beeline for Peter, shoving the two items into Peter’s hands. Peter found himself zesting the peel of the lemon, half keeping an eye on Wade who was pulling out pie crust from the freezer._

_“Course. I wouldn’t use that shit,” Wade muttered, and then he looked at Peter, eyes wide like he’d been caught._

_Peter sent him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and kept zesting. He was grateful for a job that even he couldn’t mess up. May wasn’t a baker, and although Ben could pull together a solid peach cobbler, by and large the Parker household couldn’t bake._

_Peter watched in fascination as Wade put down parchment paper on the crust and then pulled out dried beans of all things and poured them on top. He bit his tongue at this odd turn of events. Hopefully Wade knew what he was doing._

_Watching Wade bake the lemon meringue pie was a bit like watching alchemy. Flour, butter, salt, sugar, water all became flaky crust. A mixture with egg whites went from phlegmy looking goop to soft whipped peaks; hills of meringue atop golden lemon filling. In Wade’s hands, the most unremarkable ingredients transformed into something structured and shapely._

_The whole process took over an hour. An hour in which Wade mixed, baked, and tidied up the mixing bowls. He hummed and chatted to the Boxes, but his distress from before seemed to settle the more he moved his hands. All the while, Peter watched._

_Later, when they were half-dozing on the couch and their bellies were full of lemon meringue pie, Peter tried to broach the subject._

_“I didn’t know you could bake.” He’d known Wade could cook—clearly, because his tacos were to die for. But somehow when he pictured Deadpool at home, that didn’t include the image of him in an apron, whipping up cupcakes or pies._

_Wade shifted from where his face was smooshed against Peter’s chest, and let out a shaky breath._

_“My mom used to—” Wade’s voice caught. He cleared his throat and tried again. “My mom taught me.”_

_Peter’s hand, which had been petting up and down Wade’s back stilled. Wade rarely talked about his life before Deadpool. Sometimes it was as though he’d been spat out into the world fully formed—Deadpool suit and all. Occasionally, he’d mention something from before, a friend, a job. But this was more. This was something real, something tangible from before Wade became Deadpool._

_Peter didn’t dare speak for fear of startling Wade out of this odd moment of honesty._

_“She was absolute shit at it. She’d burn everything she tried to bake. I had to scrape charcoal off cupcakes, and her coffee cake was crunchy in all the wrong ways.” Wade laughed, but the noise sounded suspiciously wet. “But I ate every bit of it. Sometimes I’d eat until I was sick. When she had a day off, she’d spend the whole day in the kitchen, and we’d try to make something half-edible. God, we wasted so much food. And my dad—”_

_Laughter on the screen startled them both._

_Whatever Wade had been about to say was cut off. He was silent for a few moments more before Peter spoke._

_“Did she like lemon meringue?” Peter was desperate to hear more._

_He wanted to know Wade, the before and the after. He wanted to know about teeny tiny kid Wade getting covered in flour in the kitchen, following after a mother who loved and cared about him. He wanted to know that Wade had some comfort when he was younger, because what little he’d heard about the man’s childhood sounded bleak. He needed to know Wade had been loved._

_“She hated it.”_

_“Then why—”_

_“It was my favorite. She made it the first time and we tried it, and she gagged, but I ate it all. So she kept making it. I didn’t even notice she hated it until a couple years later.”_

_Peter smiled._

_“She sounds like she was nice.”_

_Peter’s shirt felt wet where Wade’s face was pressed to it, but he didn’t comment._

_“I can hardly remember what her voice sounded like, but I can remember her recipe for lemon meringue by heart. Isn’t that some shit?”_

_Peter’s heart ached for Wade. What would it be like to not remember May’s voice; to not know the comfort of her saying she loved him or have the sound of her saying she was proud of him ringing in his head?_

_“Just something else my brain’s taken from me,” Wade said, tone bitter. “Something they’ve taken from me.”_

_Peter saw Wade’s fingers biting into his palm, his fist clenched tight, and Peter eased his fingers apart, lacing his fingers with Wade’s._

_There was such venom in Wade’s voice that Peter didn’t bother asking who “they” were._

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

They had to wait until daylight.

Peter thought it lacked the drama of stealing into an enemy fortress at night, but apparently it was their best time to catch Stryfe by surprise. He’d be expecting an ambush at night. The sun and sand were unforgiving during the day, so he shouldn’t anticipate anyone making a move then. The scientists and few medical experts they had would stay behind, along with a couple soldiers, but the bulk of the bunker’s fighters would come with.

They’d already finished planning. And there were only so many contingencies they could discuss, only so much time they could spend going through their measly weapons and the few canisters of web fluid Peter had left after their previous travels. 

With all the planning out of the way, the only thing left was to wait, and rest up before the big day. This left Peter with too much spare time on his hands. And as with most times that he had spare time, his mind spiralled into worry.

Cable went right off to sleep in one of the rooms in the bunker. Peter didn’t feel like going off on his own just yet. The whole place felt like a graveyard, especially knowing that there were so few people left here—just thirty or so in the ragtag group of scientists and civilians who for whatever reason had survived so far. And after tomorrow there’d be even less.

Domino cornered him just after dinner—a meal which had been made up of mystery canned meat. For the first time since he’d met her, she didn’t have her gun out. Rather, it was in the holster at her hip. He couldn’t tell if that was just the norm for when they were in the bunker, or if it was a calculated gesture meant to reassure him. Her hands rested on her hips.

“When Wade found these people, they were at each other’s throats,” she began.

As far as conversational openers, it wasn’t what Peter expected. He didn’t know what he’d expected, maybe a threat. But he couldn’t deny his curiosity about this place, these people. How did they survive so long?

“How did he keep them from killing each other?” Peter asked.

Domino smiled, the gesture crinkling the corners of her eyes. Eyes that were still unnervingly focused on Peter.

“He didn’t. Not at first. He tried to play both sides—offered to take out the opposition for one of the leaders, and then did the same to the other. Of course, he didn’t plan on helping either of them. He was going to stir things up, let them duke it out, kill each other, and then swoop in to take all of their supplies for himself.”

While the image wasn’t a nice one, the quintessential Wadeness of that plan made him laugh.

Domino raised a brow, but didn’t comment.

“What changed?” 

The walls of the bunker were thick, but not thick enough that Peter couldn’t hear laughter from one of the rooms up the hall.

“Something changed his mind. Maybe he had a crisis of conscience. Or maybe he was just in a good mood that day. Whatever it was, he stopped them from slaughtering each other. He convinced them it would make more sense to pool their resources, to share their skills. And then he brought them here to this bunker he’d been holed up in on his own.” She looked baffled, like she didn’t understand it much herself. Peter knew how charismatic Wade could be when he wanted to though.

“And you’ve all been here ever since,” Peter finished. “Holding onto hope.”

Domino frowned, and knocked her knuckles against the rusted wall beside her. The sound echoed dully in the hall.

“Not much hope left. We’ve stopped finding new survivors. And besides, we wouldn’t be able to feed any new people we did find.” Her brow furrowed into one long line, her golden eye narrowed into a small sliver of color. She lowered her voice to a murmur. “We haven’t told the others yet, but supplies are running out. We’ve got three, four months tops.”

“Is there anywhere you can get more?”

“We used to be able to scout out further, but it’s getting more and more dangerous to go looking. The only other place that can help is...” Domino sighed, and scrubbed a hand down her face. “Stryfe’s fortress has food stores. Not to mention he’s got self-sufficient ecosystem rooms that could grow food for us for decades.” She tapped her hand at her waist, right near her holster, like she was itching to take out her gun.

Peter’s already dismal image of Stryfe was further twisted. How could Stryfe live, cozied up in his fortress with all that food, knowing that the world outside was starving?

“It’s the reason Wade agreed so easily to your guy’s plan,” Domino said. “He knows it’s the only option.”

Domino leaned a bit closer, her voice dropping low and dead serious.

“Listen, I know you and Tin Man are keeping things from us. I don’t care who you guys really are. Or what your super secret mission is. Something tells me you’re not trying to sabotage us. And we’re too desperate to turn away your help. But I do need to ask you for a favor.”

He looked over the grim stillness of her face, the rigid line of her shoulders.

“What do you need?”

“I know he’s just a stranger to you, but look out for Wade tomorrow.”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll be looking out for the rest of us,” Peter said. If this Wade was to be believed, then his healing factor was the same as the rest of the Deadpools Peter had met. He was the one person Peter could be sure would survive this fight. He couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse. “Besides, won’t you be doing that yourself?”

“I’m staying behind. Wade doesn’t want me coming with. Says he needs someone half competent to ‘hold down the fort’.” She scoffed. “Wade’s been around forever. He’s been around since before any of this happened. And long before that. He’s seen wars, and been all over the place.” Her eyes went distant, like she was seeing something Peter couldn’t. “I don’t even know how old he is. I think his healing keeps him from aging. All that time, outliving everyone he knows...It must wear on a person. He’s tired.”

“What are you saying?” Peter tasted sourness at the back of his throat. Whatever they’d eaten for dinner was angling for a reappearance.

“I’m saying, Chicken Arms, that you should watch his back.” She stepped forward to clap him on the shoulder. 

“I’ll keep him safe,” Peter agreed.

She looked him over for a moment longer, and she must’ve found whatever she was looking for because she nodded, and reached up to ruffle his hair before sauntering off.

“My arms are fine,” he muttered, but she was already too far away to hear him.

For a while after Domino left, Peter stood in the hall. The rusted bunker walls seemed to push in on either side. What would it be like to live out the rest of your short life in these walls?

A burst of laughter startled him out of his reverie. Moments later, stumbling footsteps revealed the nurse who’d checked them over when they first came in, propped up against another woman. The two of them had wide grins on their faces.

“Hey there,” the nurse greeted.

The woman at her side wiggled her fingers amiably at Peter. They both smelled slightly boozy. Their cheeks were flushed, from alcohol or mirth, or both. They paused briefly, tilted against one another like books on a shelf.

“Good luck tomorrow,” the nurse said to Peter.

The woman beside her pressed a kiss to the nurse’s cheek.

“Take me to bed,” the woman whispered huskily.

The nurse’s smile softened. The hand she had wrapped around the other woman came up to stroke at her hair.

“Sure thing, baby,” she murmured, mouth half-pressed against the other woman’s temple. “Night,” she said, waving good-bye to Peter.

Peter shuffled aside to let them past. He waved, watching as the two of them navigated their way down the hall, stumbling into the walls, and giggling all the while.

Instead of following after them to go to his own room, Peter went to the common area. There he found some of the survivors drinking and playing pool. It was their last hurrah. No one would know it looking at them, but Peter could sense the forced calm. The way a friendly pat on the back lingered, how the sharp snap of a pool cue against a ball nearly made them jump. They weren’t sure if they’d survive the mission. He wasn’t sure either. 

He watched another couple sneak off, giggling all the while, clearly for some alone time. He felt the familiar ache of homesickness for May, and for Wade. Heck, even for Kitty.

Wade was in the common area too, perched on one of the couches with his guns and equipment laid out on the coffee table before him. After the conversation with Domino, Peter felt himself drawn to him.

Peter made his way to the couch Wade was spread out on and sat beside him, leaving some room between them. The other man sent him a curious look and kept working on the gun in his hands. For lack of anything else to do, Peter picked up one of the guns and started disassembling it. He didn’t like shooting guns, didn’t like them much in general, but his own Wade had shown him how to take apart and help clean them. Something about taking something so destructive and disassembling it piece by piece made him feel slightly less afraid of it. Not to mention he always felt better when he kept his hands busy.

Peter cleared the chamber, and pressed the release for the magazine to set it aside. The motion was oddly reassuring, even though he didn’t recognize this place or these people, he knew how to do this. He grabbed one of the brushes and started working at the chamber to loosen up any gunk inside.

Wade gave him a look, but didn’t comment.

“Do we have a chance of winning?” Peter asked.

Peter wanted to be hopeful, but it was hard when he was packed in a bunker with the grimy and desperate dregs of humanity, in an apocalyptic future where the good guys had been well and truly beaten down, and a madman reigned.

“I think either way we’re going to fight,” Wade said finally, shoving the magazine back into the gun in his hands with a click that made the few others in the common area pause their conversation.

Peter studied his face, trying to find lines or marks that might speak to the years Domino hinted at. He only looked to be in his thirties—maybe a bit roughed up by the years—but he didn’t look anywhere near as old as he should have.

Much like all the Wades they’d run into before him, this one had scars. But rather than looking like they were from burns or cancer, they looked a little like Frankenstein’s monster; a collage of skin. Peter could see places where attempts were clearly made to stitch him up. The damage was mostly to one side of his face. Peter wondered if he’d gotten those in a fight, maybe with Stryfe, or if they were the result of something more insidious.

“But do you think we have a chance to win? To beat Stryfe?” Peter asked.

The conversation in the corner started up again.

Wade picked up the bottle of solvent and nudged it into Peter’s hand. Peter set to cleaning the barrel.

“I don’t know what to think,” Wade said. “Most of the time we try to avoid our fearless dictator altogether. Not exactly best friend material, that one. Not when he’s trying to pull your spine out of your throat with his mind.”

Peter felt his stomach churn at the image, it was like some sick Mortal Kombat fatality, except this was real life. And Stryfe was actually doing these awful things to people.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky. Seems like I’ve got a guardian angel,” Wade said.

“Don’t think I’d call Cable an angel.”

Wade snorted.

“Not him. Whoever finished up the serum we need for Stryfe.”

Peter’s interest was piqued. He’d thought the scientists in the bunker finished it—that’s what Wade had implied.

Wade rubbed a hand across his mouth, like he might swipe up the words before explaining himself. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“It just showed up in my room. I know the eggheads in the lab didn’t put it there. I’ve booby-trapped that place all to hell. It was right there on my bed. I’d think it was Dom’s luck if it wasn’t for this cute little note.”

“A note?” Peter knew there was probably no connection to the note Cable had received days ago, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

Wade reached into his pocket and drew out a folded up piece of paper. He passed it over to Peter’s waiting hands. Peter eagerly smoothed it out. In the middle of the page, written in red sparkly ink were the words: “Sweet dreams”. At the bottom there was a little postscript with the words “pointy end goes in bad guy.” The ink looked like it might be the same as the note Cable received, but Peter had no idea what the connection could mean.

“How do you know it’s not from Stryfe. What if he’s trying to sabotage you?”

Wade held up his own gun, and Peter watched him peer down the sight, and then set it aside.

“Had the nerds look it over. It’s all fully-functioning, and more advanced than anything they’ve come up with. They practically drooled over it. It should give us the time we need.”

He sounded confident. Peter wished he could feel as sure of their plan.

Wade picked up a can of food that looked suspiciously like dog food and Peter watched him use a knife to pry the thing open. Peter had been too anxious to really taste any of it earlier, eating more on autopilot than out of any real hunger.

“Did you ever know someone named Spider-Man?” Peter didn’t know why he wanted to know, or how it would help him to know. Maybe part of him wanted a bit of comfort before tomorrow. If he couldn’t see his Wade, he could search for a part of him here.

Wade looked at him, expression a bit blank. The same calculating expression all the Wade’s seemed to have when faced with a stranger. Peter tried not to let it sting.

“No. I don’t think so.”

Wade rubbed at his chin, and set aside the can of food.

“Maybe?” Wade said. “I’ve heard a lot of names over the years. Met a lot of people. I remember every episode of Golden Girls back-to-back and can field strip an M4 in under thirty seconds, but ask me who was president when I was younger, or what my favorite flavor of ice cream is and I’ve got nothing.”

Wade didn’t sound upset exactly, but he did look a bit perturbed, unsettled. For the first time since they’d met, Wade looked old. It was something in his eyes—like the years had dug their way inside him, leaving holes he’d never be able to fill.

“I know a Wade.” Cable hadn’t told the others about their dimension-hopping, and Peter wasn’t about to now. What would it help for this Wade to know about a different world? As much as Peter wanted to take all these people away to a better place, he knew Cable wouldn’t.

“My Wade likes rocky road,” Peter offered. “He tells people it’s bubblegum, but he never eats it because he doesn’t like the chunks of gum. He makes me eat it. But...he likes rocky road.” It didn’t mean much in this world without ice cream; this world where Wade didn’t remember much of anything, himself included. And it meant even less when he couldn’t tell Wade the truth.

Peter thought about never seeing his Wade again. What would it be like to live so long that he eventually forgot what he sounded like? What if he forgot what it felt like to have Wade wrapped around him, his knees kissing the dimples behind Peter’s knees?

Wade must’ve seen something in Peter’s expression because he pulled the pieces of the gun from Peter’s hands and started cleaning it himself instead.

Peter drew his knees to chest, and wrapped his arms around his legs, huddling for warmth and partially for comfort. If he was at home right now, he could’ve bundled up on the couch, and wrapped Wade’s arms around himself.

“You should get some rest,” Wade said.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to move from the couch, and he didn’t want to close his eyes. He had the irrational feeling that if he did, tomorrow would come sooner than if he kept vigil here, watching Wade’s steady hands, and listening to the clack of pool cues against billiard balls.

He stayed there while his eyelids and his limbs grew heavy. He stayed while Wade finished cleaning the guns, and the others finished their game and trickled out of the room off to their beds. He stayed until it felt like the quiet of the bunker might swallow him up whole. He watched Wade, and he felt the gentle tickle of his spidey sense when Wade watched him back. And at some point he drifted off with the other man’s quiet presence on the couch beside him.

  
  
  
  


The next morning found them running through the plan one last time.

“Remember, once we’re in the room, I can buy you ten minutes. And that’s a generous timeline,” Wade said, as they stood around the maps laid out on the table.

“And if we’re not feeling generous on that estimate? How much time will we have?” Cable asked.

It was different the way he talked to this Wade. He seemed to respect this dimension’s Wade more, and rather than dismissing him out of hand, he talked strategy with him. Peter couldn’t tell if that was because they were desperate and low on options, or if it was because this Wade was older, and clearly more level-headed than any of the other Wades they’d met.

“Maybe five minutes, maybe less. I can distract him, hold off his psychic attacks with the stuff in my head,” Wade tapped at the side of his head, presumably reminding them of the implant he had in there. An implant that would help heighten and weaponize his natural immunity to psychic attacks. “That should get me close enough to use the serum, which will block his abilities.”

Peter tried to tease him about the hand-wavy science of it all—his own Wade would’ve laughed and had a few jokes of his own—but his heart wasn’t much in it, and this Wade just quirked his mouth up in a bemused smile. 

Peter’s next thought was that his own Wade would’ve never in a million years let someone experiment on him again, but he supposed this Wade had many more years to come to terms with past trauma. Or maybe he’d forgotten it entirely, and didn’t at all mind scientists poking around in his head putting tech inside. For the first time, Peter thought there might be an upside to Wade forgetting things.

Peter watched as the ragged band of survivors, Wade, and Cable equipped themselves and checked their weapons. Domino watched the proceedings, eyes dark, and mouth drawn in a frown.

They had a bit of time before they needed to head out. The gun at his own hip—one Peter was loath to carry, but that Cable had insisted he have—felt like the proverbial albatross around his neck.

It felt like Peter couldn’t breathe. In the quiet of the bunker things had been more theoretical. Their planning and scheming hadn’t felt real, because part of him had been holding out hope that there’d be some eleventh hour save. Some deus ex machina to fix it all, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his Wade teased at the back of his brain.

But there wasn’t going to be some miracle. The cavalry wasn’t going to come in at the last second to help. Cable and Peter were the cavalry—they were the last-minute miracle—and that terrified Peter more than anything.

Peter snuck off to a storage room, begging off with excuses about looking for a missing web cartridge he’d accidentally dropped, his voice sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. The others gave him an odd look, but he waved them off, promising to be back in time.

His hands shook as he pulled out his phone. It was on its last legs, but he had been using it sparingly, so it should have enough juice for one call.

He held the phone up to his ear, listening for the beep.

“Hey there. How are you?” Peter took a shaky breath. “This is it. The final boss, the big showdown. We’ve got a plan. It’s a bit risky.” His voice sounded wet to his own ears.

“You should see this place. It’s like some Resident Evil apocalyptic wasteland. Dust everywhere, and an evil overlord against a band of scrappy survivors.” It was comforting to picture it that way, like it was just some story. Heroes always won in stories. 

“And you’re here! You’re this rough, older warrior dude. You’re kind of leading the rebels. It’s pretty badass. Very Furiosa. Or like sexier Rick Grimes.” Peter laughed, but it came out as more of a sob. He wiped at a tear on his cheek. He hadn’t wanted to cry. He’d wanted to stay composed for this call.

“This plan...I don’t know if it’s going to work. I think you’re gonna die—this version of you. For real die. No take backs, no popping back up like a chatty, sexy Weeble. And you’re doing it just because we asked. And I know it’s not _you_ you. Not _my_ you—Fuck! You know what I mean.”

Peter ran his finger through his hair, probably sticking it up in a mess of curls.

“It’s not fair.”

His fingers found themselves holding onto the half of a heart charm around his neck. Its twin was in an entire other dimension back with his Wade.

He wished Cable could hop them all the way back to a couple weeks ago. He wanted to be oblivious to this whole mission. He wanted to not know about all the Wades and Wandas out there in pain, or about a future filled with dust and death. He wanted to be back in bed complaining to Wade about his post-patrol burrito gas, or about the way Wade left his dirty shoes right where Peter would trip on them. He wanted to listen to Wade whine about Kitty peeing on his boots, or worry about getting yelled at by Jameson for not having some article done yet. He didn’t want to have to wonder if this was his last phone call to Wade.

“I just—If this is going to be my last chance, I need you to know. I love you”—Peter took in a shaky breath—“like, a thousand amount. I love you, Wade Wilson.”

He hung up before he could do something embarrassing like sob. His chest hurt suddenly from how much he felt that love, and he wondered why he hadn’t said it earlier. He hoped he lived long enough to say it to Wade in person.

He made his way to the front room of the bunker where everyone was doing final checks of their equipment, and joined them. Wade met his eye, his brow quirked up in an unspoken question. Peter offered him a nod. 

Everyone was chatting and laughing, but the boisterousness felt odd in the face of their deadly mission. Someone patted Peter on the shoulder in an oddly companionable gesture.

Peter couldn’t help but watch Wade as he pulled something from his pocket, maybe a note or a photograph. He stared at it with an odd wistfulness that tugged at something in Peter’s chest. And then just as soon as the moment began, it ended, with Wade tucking the photo away, and then clasping Domino by the forearm, sharing an almost familial embrace and a whispered good-bye.

Domino seemed to watch Wade as he made his way to the front of the group, right near where Peter was standing.

“Okay people. It’s time.” Wade announced, clapping his hands together to get the small group’s attention. “Let’s get this show on the road!” 

Wade muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “headlong into the Death Star.” When Peter looked at him he winked, and then faced forward again, pulling out his gun as he walked.

Peter was no stranger to life-threatening situations, but something about this felt different. Maybe it was because he wasn’t in his own dimension, or maybe it was the way the others looked like they were marching to their deaths. And for all Peter knew, they were.

It felt like time jumped forward. The night before, with all the preparation and planning hadn’t gone by nearly as quickly. Now that they were putting the plan into action, everything seemed to speed up. 

It took just under an hour to make their way through a series of secret tunnels and sneak into Stryfe’s fortress. Half of the group split off to run interference and create a distraction to pull away guards, and the others aside from Cable, Wade, and Peter worked to secure the hall outside Stryfe’s quarters.

Soon, the three of them were standing outside the doors to Stryfe’s room.

It all happened for Peter in a daze. His body moved as though on autopilot, and if not for his spidey sense, he might have been in trouble.

Stryfe was inside, and waiting. Wade attacked, drawing Stryfe’s attention. Peter and Cable brought up the rear.

Peter fought the shiver that ran up his spine when he laid eyes on Stryfe. He knew that he was going to look like Cable, they were genetically identical, but it was still eerie to see the same face that had been beside him for the last month or so looking at them—the same shock of white hair and same starburst scar around one eye. The only noticeable difference, aside from the metal armor, was the positively evil smile on his face.

It didn’t take long for Stryfe to get the upper hand. This Wade was a good fighter, and even less predictable than the Wade Peter knew, but Stryfe clearly had strength on his side. Soon, he had Wade by the throat.

“What did you think you were going to do?” Stryfe asked. “Just waltz in here and stop me? You always were impossibly naive. No plan. No real allies.” Stryfe spared them a glance, and Peter couldn’t help but shiver under the man’s gaze. If he thought Cable’s dead fish eyes were bad, they were nothing compared to this. “No hope,” Stryfe finished.

Peter could see the way Wade’s eyes bulged in his head, how the hand around his neck made the veins under his scarred skin distend.

“I can read everything you’re thinking,” Stryfe nodded towards Peter. “You’ve got nothing. Same as always.”

Wade mouthed something, but no sound came out.

“What was that?”

Wade mouthed it again, but again no sound emerged. Finally, Stryfe sighed and set Wade back on his feet, hand still at his neck, but no longer doing its best to crush his windpipe. Wade made a show of coughing and sputtering.

“I said. What makes you think we don’t have a plan?”

There was a flash of motion, and then Wade had a syringe in Stryfe’s side, the plunger depressed.

“How’s that for a plan,” Wade gasped out.

Stryfe laughed.

“That’s it? You were going to drug me? Did you really think that would stop me?”

Stryfe’s hand lifted Wade up again, and all the while Wade smiled.

“You should’ve done your research,” Stryfe hissed. “Sedatives won’t work on me.”

There was a loud crack as Wade’s neck finally snapped. His feet, which had been kicking at Stryfe, went still. Peter’s stomach turned as he watched Stryfe toss Wade’s body aside.

“It wasn’t a sedative,” Cable said.

Peter couldn’t take his eyes off of Wade’s still body.

“It was a special serum. Something we created to dampen your abilities. It’ll wear off eventually, but not before we get what we came for.” Cable stepped toward Stryfe. “Just enough time for me to reach into that head of yours and find Hope.”

Peter watched as Cable and Stryfe both went still, glassy-eyed. He stumbled over to Wade’s side and knelt down, moving the body into a more comfortable position so that Wade was propped up against him. He’d never get used to how heavy limbs got when someone died. Wade’s arms were limp and uncooperative. His body was still warm where it pressed against Peter in a perverse configuration of a hug. Peter tried to pretend that the slack body pressed to his was heavy with sleep rather than anything else.

Cable’s face looked almost drained of blood, his brow furrowed in what might have been concentration. Stryfe looked no better, his white eye flashing dangerously. Neither of them moved.

Only three minutes passed—Peter counted—before Cable jolted and gasped.

“Impossible. How are you still hiding it?” Cable asked. Peter saw his legs wobble beneath him, but he stayed upright.

Peter watched Stryfe hold a hand to his head wincing. The man chuckled.

“She’s mine,” Stryfe said. “We’re going to do great things together once I get my hands on her.”

Wade’s body was motionless, neck still bent at an unnatural angle.

Cable laughed, a dour sound.

“You don’t know where she is,” Cable said. “This whole time. We thought you had her. We were so sure, and you let us believe—but you don’t have her. You don’t know anything.”

Stryfe stood upright, pulling his hand from his head. He stared at Cable who was smiling now, an almost manic expression on his face.

“Time’s up, boys,” Stryfe said.

Peter’s spidey sense wailed just before it happened. One moment, Wade was whole and in Peter’s arms, and the next, he wasn’t. It took a split second to register the warm wetness on his face, and the red puddle in front of him that his brain couldn’t quite make sense of. Wade had just been there.

“A nuisance, that one. Can’t have him meddling again. He couldn’t leave well enough alone and just stick to his little bunker,” Stryfe said dismissively, flicking away a piece of something pink from his hand that looked suspiciously like brain matter. “I was fine with things staying the way they were. But he just had to push.”

Peter felt distant, like he was floating out of himself.

“Now, onto you two.” Stryfe took a step towards Peter.

Peter knew, with an icy certainty, that they were going to die. His spidey sense felt like it was splitting his head down the middle. Stryfe was going to kill them. He could feel this, but it was hard to move his brain past the way Wade had just slipped through his fingers.

He closed his eyes, and waited for it to come. Waited for his body to disintegrate the same way Wade’s had moments earlier. 

Nothing happened.

He opened his eyes. Stryfe was completely still, his face frozen in impassive stillness, his mouth open as though to speak. Peter saw Cable step forward out of the corner of his eye. Cable said nothing as Stryfe’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his whole body slumped to the floor like an accordion folding in on itself—his limbs crumpling up in an uncomfortable heap.

Peter felt a touch on his shoulder.

“He’s gone,” Cable said softly.

And then, Peter’s whole body was twisted up, and tugged back into the nothingness between dimensions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Liquification of a person. Character Death (one of the Wades, but not the main story's Wade).
> 
> It's not super graphic, but it is kinda bloody.


	13. A Thousand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade’s got a sort of routine down now. Peter's message is a bit of a shocker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wade’s POV again.

Wade woke to Dolly sitting on his chest, staring at him.

“Sweet baby Jesus!”

At some point in the night, Dolly had replaced the Spider-pig plushie Wade normally slept with. No doubt rubbing her fur all over it first.

**_I think it’s a spy._ **

Cue the cheap seats. Couldn’t they leave it be until after he had his morning coffee?

“You think everything’s a spy, Yellow,” Wade said, ignoring Yellow’s theories about the cat. White wasn’t joining in on the conspiracy, it was content to come up with ways to eviscerate Dolly. Wade decidedly was not going to be following White’s advice. Wade tried to just let it pass. One day at a time. Wasn’t that a thing people said? White was just especially stab-happy in the morning. And the evening. And on days that ended with a “y”.

Dolly meowed.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your food. I need coffee to deal with this shit.”

Wade shuffled through the dirty laundry Petey seemed to just toss onto the floor wherever he took it off. He made a mental note to wash it later that night, and went to the kitchen, all the while trying to avoid tripping as the cat weaved in and out of his legs. She’d been extra needy ever since the vet visit, when they’d jabbed her with needles. It had been more than a little traumatizing for both of them. She’d yowled and tried to claw the vet tech’s eyes out, while Wade whispered reassurances to her even as he hyperventilated from the smell of disinfectant and the clinically white walls of the exam room.

**_Scratch that, she’s an assassin. Assassin cat._ **

Any feeling of solidarity or sympathy Yellow had with the cat from the vet visit was apparently gone now.

**[What would be the point of training a cat to be an assassin?]**

“Are you kidding, that would be genius. They’re so teeny tiny. They could fit anywhere,” Wade chimed in, instantly regretting it when that set Yellow off more.

He set the newly bought coffee pot to brew, and pulled open the tab on a fresh can of cat food. He upended the can in Dolly’s bowl and tossed the empty can into the recycling. Once she was happily gulping down the food at a speed, which White was sure would one day be her undoing, Wade got himself a bowl of cereal.

Dolly liked her routine. It felt a bit like being back in the military. Each morning, she’d get up in the cool light of pre-dawn and wail until he fed them both—Dolly’s internal clock was uncannily precise. After the beast was fed, he’d call Weasel, tuning out the man’s complaints about it being ass-crack o’clock before prying updates from him. The update was always that he’d found nothing. 

This morning he stuck to his routine. Wade finished off his cereal, and drank down a good half of the pot of coffee before turning to one of his favorite pastimes: hassling Weasel. After yelling at Weas for a bit and sending off emails to Peter’s professors about his missed classes, he got dressed and went to the next item on the docket: going out to crack some criminal skulls. 

Then it was back home to change into civvies, and off to lunch at May’s, followed by any chores she needed help with. May and Wade had bonded in Peter’s absence. He checked on her every day, and kept her company—although he suspected it was all more for his benefit. 

He didn’t recall ever doing the whole chores thing as a kid. His childhood home had been a mess as far as he remembered. The only memory he had of doing chores was the sharp clinking sound of lugging a recycling bin filled to the brim with empties to the curb.

It was odd having such a normal routine. Usually his schedule was the definition of chaotic. For the past few years of life he’d gotten up at all hours, slept at all hours—if at all—and hopped from city to city, wandering in and out like some mangy vagrant. He’d been a wayward, feral thing; someone people avoided or feared unless they needed him to do a job, and even then they knew to keep their distance. It wasn’t until he moved to New York, until he met Peter that things had changed.

The only breaks in the routine during the days Peter had been gone so far, were Peter’s phone messages. They were sporadic—occurring at all hours—and Wade quickly caught on to the fact that whatever Cable had done to Pete’s phone to let it make interdimensional calls, it didn’t allow them to talk in real time. It was more like snail mail.

This time, the phone message came while he was on the toilet. He set his phone down on the sink beside him and turned on the speakerphone.

It took three times listening to it all the way through for his brain to process the message.

Wade got off the toilet and mechanically washed his hands. He made it as far as the kitchen before he slumped to the ground.

**_He said the thing._ **

The tail end of the phone message played again.

_ “I just—If this is going to be my last chance, I need you to know. I love you-”  _ There was a noise like Peter taking in a shaky breath _. “-like, a thousand amount. I love you, Wade Wilson.” _

Dolly strolled over to rub against his side. She climbed into the space between his sprawled legs, and pawed at the phone that had fallen out of his hands onto the kitchen floor.

It felt like someone had pried apart Wade’s ribs, reached into his chest, and spun his heart around a couple of times just for fun.

**[I’ve...got nothing.]**

**_Play it again?_ ** Yellow asked hopefully.

Wade picked up Dolly, squeezing her to his chest. He pressed play on the message again, and he, the Boxes, and the cat all settled in to listen.


	14. Dogpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s feeling a wee bit traumatized after having someone’s insides painted on his outsides. They find a doggie Deadpool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slight allusions to past sexual abuse in the flashback. Also, descriptions of animal abuse (not too graphic)

**Flashback...**

_ “You said I could ask you anything, right?” _

_ “That’s what Truth or Dare without the dare is. Why can’t we do dares again?” Wade had insisted they have a proper sleepover the first time Peter stayed over—on an occasion that wasn’t because he’d been blown up or had some kind of breakdown. This apparently included playing sleepover games. _

_ “Because all your dares will involve me getting naked or committing crime, and then the game will be over before we even start,” Peter pointed out. _

_ Wade opened his mouth, finger raised like he was going to try to argue, and then he paused. _

_ “How about both? You naked and committing crime?” Wade asked, running his fingers up Peter’s leg suggestively. _

_ Peter brushed his hand off, and gave him a pointed look. _

_ “Truth.” _

_ Wade rolled his eyes, but redirected his hands to the bowl of chips beside him. _

_ “Fine, but it’s your idea. So you start,” Wade said. _

_ Peter didn’t point out that Wade was the one who started the game in the first place. Instead, he thought about questions. He was determined to use this opportunity to get some answers. He wanted to start off small. He knew if he dove right into the difficult questions, Wade would just shut down. _

_ “What’s your favorite tv show?” _

_ Wade snorted. _

_ “Try something more hard-hitting, Petey. Aren’t you supposed to be a reporter?” _

_ “I write for the Bugle, not the Daily Planet.” _

_ “Are you allowed to say that? Won’t there be licensing issues?” Wade said. Peter could see the side tangent coming a mile off, so he stretched out his leg to gently nudge Wade and pull him out of it. _

_ “Play the game,” Peter prompted. _

_ “It’s a stupid question. Golden Girls, obviously.” _

_ Peter thought as much. _

_ “Your turn,” Peter prompted. _

_ Peter snagged a slice of pizza and started in on it, watching Wade’s face scrunch up in thought. _

_ “What did you want to be when you were an itty bitty baby spider?” _

_ “May and Ben told me that I wanted to be a pirate. I don’t really remember it, but apparently I spent weeks reading books about sailing and I turned my room into the captain’s quarters.” _

_ Wade looked delighted. _

_ “Baby Spidey wanted to be a pirate!” he crowed. “A life of crime on the high seas. If only Baby Spidey could see you now.” _

_ Peter couldn’t help but laugh. _

_ “I grew out of it pretty quick. When I found some of my parent’s old stuff, I started wanting to be a scientist. Like them.” He didn’t really remember his parents, and that was part of the reason why he wanted to find a way to be closer to them. Maybe if he followed in their footsteps he hadn’t lost them completely. _

_ Wade swiped Peter’s half-eaten pizza slice from his hand, and snagged Peter’s leg, draping it across his lap and pulling Peter out of his musings. _

_ “Who was your first crush?” Peter asked. _

_ “Carla Myers,” Wade said through a mouthful of pilfered pizza. “She lived in the house a few down from ours.” _

_ Wade didn’t talk about his childhood a lot. Every little bit of information Peter filed away, knowing that anecdotes were going to be few and far between about what Wade was like when he was younger, about what life was like for him before. _

_ “Had my first kiss with her brother, Rhett at the start of sixth grade.” Wade had an odd soft smile on his face. _

_ “What about you? Who was your first kiss?” Wade wiggled his eyebrows.  _

_ Peter knew Wade didn’t mean anything by it, but right away he felt his breath catch. There was a familiar pang in his chest. He saw Wade’s expression fall. _

_ “Sorry, Pete. I wasn’t thinking.” _

_ Peter looked away, down at his nails that Wade had painted a mac n cheese orange. He felt Wade’s hand at his ankle, rubbing soothing circles there. _

_ “It’s fine,” Peter said. _

_ He felt Wade watching him, and knew the other man was spiralling, so he blurted out the first thing he could think of. _

_ “When’s your birthday?” _

_ Wade gave him a questioning look. _

_ “I just realized. You know when mine is, but I don’t know yours.” _

_ “Probably December.” _

_ Peter watched as Wade’s face scrunched up in his Serious Concentration™ face. Even though Wade didn’t seem to understand why it was so important to Peter, he was clearly trying to remember for his sake. _

_ “January?” Wade phrased it like a question, so Peter shrugged. Wade nodded like he was feeling more sure, and then frowned. “It was definitely cold. Sometimes snowy, so probably around winter. Although Canada’s always cold as balls, so maybe it wasn’t anywhere near winter.” _

_ Wade sighed, and swiped a hand across the top of his head. _

_ “Why do you need to know?” _

_ Peter reached out for him, drawing Wade into his arms, and Wade went easily like he always did. Peter just managed to snag the pizza box before Wade upended it. The man was a cuddler, something Peter had been pleased to find out when they first started dating. _

_ “It’s important because I want to celebrate, doofus.” _

_ Peter reached up to rub at the back of Wade’s head. _

_ “I don’t get why we need to celebrate. I don’t know how old I am. Am I supposed to just choose an age and stick with that forever like an aging Hollywood socialite? Besides, I don’t age normally anyway, so it seems pointless to celebrate. It’s cheating,” Wade said. _

_ Peter’s hand paused. _

_ “That’s...a lot to unpack.” Wade didn’t age normally? Did that mean he would stay the same and Peter would get all old and wrinkly? Would he even want to be with Peter when he got all old and gross? And what would that mean for Wade? Was he just doomed to wander the Earth for all eternity, outliving everyone he ever loved? _

_ Peter consciously pushed aside the issue, tabling the problem for later, like a functioning adult who definitely wasn’t just suppressing his issues. _

_ “I don’t think it’s the finiteness of birthdays that makes them special. I mean, would you deny Thor a birthday celebration just because he’s gonna have a ton of them?” _

_ Wade wriggled out of Peter’s hold, clearly uncomfortable with the line of conversation. He snagged a slice of pizza, and settled on the other end of the couch. _

_ “I’m a Capricorn,” Wade said, leaning back against the couch, clearly going for casual. _

_ Peter couldn’t help but mirror him on the other end of the couch. _

_ “I thought you said you were a Cancer.” _

_ “Nah. Just sounds funny. Me, a Cancer. It’s irony. Wait no, fuck. What’s the opposite of irony?” _

_ “Sincerity?” Peter offered. _

_ “No, the inverse?” _

_ “Now you’re just being deliberately obtuse.” _

_ “Well that’s just mean. You know I never finished high school Geometry.” _

_ Peter snorted. Talking with Wade was always a bit like conversational gymnastics. He never knew which way it was going to flip. _

_ “Your turn,” Peter prompted. “As me a question.” _

_ Wade reached out, laying a greasy hand on Peter’s ankle, rubbing at the bare skin there. _

_ “Who is your favorite superhero? And if you say Human Torch we are going to have words.” _

_ “Come on, you’ve seen my childhood bedroom,” Peter said with a smile. “Do I seem like a Fantastic Four kinda guy?” _

_ “I don’t know. You two have teamed up a couple times,” Wade said. _

_ “Bruce Banner.” _

_ “Brucie’s not a superhero, Hulk is.” Wade pointed emphatically with the last bite of pizza in his hand before popping it into his mouth. _

_ “Agree to disagree.” _

_ “Okay, final question. Otherwise we’re never getting to the naked pillow fight portion of this sleepover,” Wade said, snagging a handful of cheesy puffs and shoving it in his mouth. _

_ Peter didn’t think it through before he asked the question that had been needling at the back of his mind for a while now. _

_ “What’s Weapon X?” _

_ Wade went impossibly still, the hand on Peter’s ankle stopped its gentle ministrations. _

_ “Where did you hear that?” Wade practically whispered. Before Peter could explain, Wade barrelled on ahead. “Did you read that in my file? Did Stark give it to you? Try to give you a peek at all the skeletons in my closet?” _

_ Peter pulled his leg from Wade’s lap, moving to kneel beside him. _

_ Wade was getting defensive now, despite Peter’s attempts to ease into more difficult topics. Peter didn’t know what Weapon X was, but clearly it meant something to Wade, something very not good. He regretted asking the question at all. He should’ve just left it alone. _

_ “I didn’t get it from any file,” Peter rushed to explain. “It wasn’t Stark, or any of the others. It was just...That X-Men team-up I did a couple weeks ago? Wolverine mentioned something about it. He kicked me off the mission. Said it was too dangerous. And when I pressed him about it he said to ask you.” _

_ Wade stared at him, eyes dark and calculating. It was the way he looked at Cap when he went into lecture mode, the way he looked at random people on the street. It wasn’t the way he normally looked at Peter. _

_ “Wade?” Peter asked uncertainly. _

_ He watched Wade heave in a breath, and then slowly lower his shoulders like he was making a conscious effort to relax his body. He still looked anything but relaxed, with a pasted on smile. _

_ “Rain check on the pillow fight. I forgot I promised Weas I’d do something for him tonight,” Wade said. “You can let yourself out?” _

_ And Peter, unsure of exactly what just happened, just nodded. _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present…_ **

Peter opened his eyes. It took him a moment to register that he wasn’t dead. At least it didn’t seem like he was dead. He looked up to see Cable standing beside him, hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

Peter eyed their surroundings. They were in a field this time. The sun was setting in the distance, and there were big white and red striped tents in the distance with nothing else for miles.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and looked over to see Cable holding out a mostly clean rag.

“For the blood,” Cable said.

It wasn’t until he said it that Peter really registered the wetness on his skin, the still-warm blood of the other dimension’s Wade coating his face.

Peter grabbed the rag and scrubbed furiously at his skin. After a little bit of water from one of their water bottles and even more scrubbing, he’d gotten most of it off of himself, but it was difficult to tell without a mirror. And even though he’d wiped at his face already, he felt like the blood was still there.

“What did you do?” Peter asked, his voice a quiet rasp. It felt like he’d been shouting, but he knew he hadn’t made a noise for many minutes.

He shoved the dirty rag into one of his pockets.

They were back to square one. They failed. Stryfe was dead, and so was that dimension’s Wade. Permanently this time. Even though he wasn’t Peter’s Wade, it made his chest ache. Even more so knowing that Wade’s sacrifice was for nothing. They were no closer to finding Hope. The only consolation was that Domino and the ones left behind in the bunker might have a chance to survive now that Stryfe was gone.

“Her device’s energy signature is here. It’s old, but it’s the only lead we have,” Cable said, as though Peter hadn’t spoken at all.

He didn’t even have the decency to look rattled, as though minutes before they hadn’t been facing down Stryfe, or seen someone they knew obliterated into a puddle of bone and blood and muscle. Cable didn’t look like someone who had just murdered a man. Then again, Stryfe hadn’t looked like it either. He’d been calm and composed up to the last breath.

“That’s what you said last time. And the time before that,” Peter pointed out. “And the dozen or so times before that.”

Peter tucked his shaking hands into his armpits.

Cable ignored him, and Peter followed after the other man, unsure of what else he could do. Maybe he was in shock. They trailed the energy signature to the largest tent. They snuck in the back to find a huge crowd circled around a stage—a man in a tailcoat and a tophat standing at the center.

“Tonight’s headliner! The one you’ve all been waiting to see. He needs no introduction, but let’s welcome him all the same. Hailing from parts unknown…”

Peter followed Cable to the side of one of the bleachers. The tent was filled with the smell of popcorn, sweat, and hay.

“Some call him the Hound from Hell,” the man in the tophat said dramatically. “He is fierce. Strong. So fearsome that even death dares not cross his path.”

Peter heard excited whispers run through the crowd.

“The Death-Defying Dog. The one, the only: Deadpool!”

Peter thought maybe he heard wrong until he saw something small and fluffy come out onto the stage. It was a dog in a Deadpool costume.

“Prepare to be astounded, folks. As man’s best friend faces the most dangerous, the most harrowing of foes.”

Peter felt his brain fuzz out a bit. Like someone turned down the volume on the world, but sharpened everything else. His vision narrowed to the dog on the stage, and the man holding a sword who was circling the creature.

He felt Cable hand on his arm, fingers digging in to keep him from moving. He didn’t know how much time passed. He watched as the man and Deadpool the dog fought. Deadpool was cut, and hurt, but got back up. 

The man in the tophat brought out a ring of fire next, and dog Deadpool jumped through it, igniting the air with the smell of burnt fur. Afterwards, the men on the stage brought an archer and filled the dog with arrows.

Peter thought the people in the stands cheered, but all he heard was ringing in his ears. All he felt was a tingling in his hands, and the urge to go on that stage and stop it, to do something. Cable’s fingers dug into his arm until Peter’s bones creaked and the sharp stab of pain in his arm was the only other thing he felt besides anger churning in his gut.

After the act was finished, and Cable had managed to drag Peter away from the tent, they snuck off to investigate the other tents. They found the man in the tophat and a man holding a whip in a smaller tent, chatting about the Deadpool dog.

“That little mongrel bit me!”

Tophat was counting a stack of bills.

“Please, you’re barely bleeding. And you punished it, right?”

The other man, the one with the whip ran his fingers along the leather of the whip in answer.

“Why don’t we cut it loose. It’s more trouble than it’s worth,” the whip man said.

Tophat man paused his bill counting.

“We’ve been over this, Sergei. That beast brings in more money every night than your scrawny lions scrape in for the whole month.”

“I’ve got a new act that’s sure to make money. Just let me try it.”

“Enough with the new act. You’re still paying off the tiger.”

“It’s not that. It’s something new. That lab you found the furball at. They’ve made something new.”

Tophat perked up, seeming intrigued.

“This one’s got metal claws,” Sergei said.

Cable and Peter left at this point. Clearly they weren’t going to get any useful information from those two. And according to Cable, the energy signature from Hope was faint here anyhow. Cable was ready to jump them to the next dimension, but Peter darted off to a nearby tent before he could. He wasn’t about to let another Deadpool suffer.

Peter thought Cable might have fought him harder on it, but after their encounter with Stryfe, and with what happened to that other Wade, maybe he was feeling sympathetic, because all he did was huff and tell Peter to hurry up.

It didn’t take long to break open Deadpool’s too-small cage. It took a little longer to coax Deadpool out of it. He kept eyeing Cable with his big wet eyes, and panting frantically, but once Peter made Cable wait outside, he managed to lure Deadpool over with quiet reassurances, and a bit of leftover jerky he had stashed in his pocket.

Peter returned to Cable with Deadpool the dog stumbling close at his heels, his pocket now empty of treats.

“I think it has mange,” Cable pointed out.

“We’ll get him to a vet or something then. And, if what they said about him is true then his healing factor might take care of it anyway. We just need to get some food into him.”

“Are you really up to the task of looking after this dog? It’s going to need food, and physical care. Not to mention it needs a home when we leave again.” Cable tone wasn’t mean, but Peter couldn’t help but bristle all the same, a sentiment echoed literally by the dog, whose fur stood up on its back.

“We can’t just abandon him,” Peter said. “And forgive me if I don’t want to defer to you on this one. Your plans haven’t exactly gone great lately. I mean, we wouldn’t even be in this mess if you weren’t such a paranoid bastard. You keep making these decisions and not consulting anyone else. At some point you need to learn to trust someone other than yourself!”

“You need to think about this realistically.”

“Are you trying to ‘dad’ me?” Peter asked.

The dog bared his teeth at Cable.

“I don’t know what that means. But if it means I’m going to be the voice of reason in your stealing—”

“Liberating.”

“If you’re going to be unreasonable about stealing this dog. Then I’m going to bring up the logistics,” Cable said.

“This isn’t just about the dog!” Peter yelled.

Peter felt the dog flinch at his side, and he winced. He lowered his voice this time as he spoke.

“It’s not just about the dog,” Peter said. “This is about you calling the shots all the time, and not stopping to think if they’re the right ones. We got a man killed. Two men, actually. And you’re still going on like nothing happened.”

Peter gave the dog a pat on the shoulder. He relaxed a little against Peter’s side, but still didn’t seem pleased with Cable towering over them.

“We don’t have time to deal with the dog,” Cable said.

“Make time.”

Cable quietly brooded the whole time it took to hotwire a car, drive to a nearby town, and find the nearest vet.

Peter was still seething, but he did feel a bit bad for being so harsh with Cable. It wasn’t entirely the other man’s fault for what happened to that other Wade. Peter had a feeling that Wade had been looking for a way out anyway. And although he hated how things went down with Stryfe, part of him knew it was self-defense; they hadn’t had much other choice.

The vet’s office was closed, but it didn’t take much time for Cable to pick the lock and get them inside.

“Leave him in here. They’ll find him in the morning,” Cable said.

Peter eyed the empty lobby. The dog in his arms gave a pitiful whimper.

Peter found some blankets in the back and made a little nest for the dog on the chairs in the lobby. He filled bowls with food and water, putting them well within reach of the dog. He knelt down beside doggy Deadpool, staring into the dog’s slightly bulging eyes. The dog stared back, brown eyes big and wet and pitiful.

“We have to go now, okay? I don’t know how much you understand, but you’ll be safe here. They should take care of you, and find you a nice home.”

The dog whined. When Peter reached out to pet his chin, the dog put his head down, trapping Peter’s hand between the dog’s chin and the chair beneath him.

“I’m sorry. I’d keep you if I could, but mean Cable over there says no taking in interdimensional strays.”

Cable made a grunting noise somewhere behind him.

“Okay,” Peter said.

Peter leaned forward to give the dog a kiss on the forehead, and was rewarded with a sloppy kiss that left a trail of spit along his cheek. Peter’s eyes burned with tears, and he couldn’t help but throw his arms around the dog and give him a little squeeze. The dog grunted, but seemed content to be squeezed.

“Good luck doggy Deadpool.”

Peter pulled away, walking over to where Cable was waiting. He heard a questioning noise from doggy Deadpool.

“Have a good life,” Peter said, glancing back to see the dog was alert, ears up.

Peter felt a tugging sensation in his chest that had nothing to do with dimension hopping, and everything to do with the pitiful look the dog sent him.

“Ready?” Cable asked.

Peter put his hand on Cable’s shoulder. 

“Ready.”

This time when Cable pressed on the dimension hopper, there was an odd smell in the air like burning plastic. There was the familiar sound of the dimension hopper whirring, and then a flash of light. Moments before they were pulled away, Peter heard the skittering of nails on tile.


	15. Lady Deadpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cable's dimension hopper needs some TLC, and so do our boys. Thankfully, a sort of familiar face is there to help.

**_Flashback..._ **

_ Peter hadn’t thought about how much he might like sex until he was having it, a lot. _

_ With Wade, sex wasn’t just a physical thing. It wasn’t just body parts banging together, it was a study in anticipation and teasing. It was gentle, wandering hands. It was texting about it, and talking about it ahead of time. It was soft touches in the early morning, sunlight on Peter’s back, stolen moments between patrols, and a slow ride with no particular destination in mind. _

_ And sometimes, it was getting railed into next week on the rooftop of a building at the tail end of patrol. _

_ “Good choice. 10/10, would bang here again,” Wade said, swiping a hand down Peter’s very sweaty back. _

_ While Peter worked on catching his breath, he let Wade’s guiding hands turn him over. He felt like Jell-O, and he was more than fine with being manhandled instead of having to move himself. Wade wiped them both down, and tucked them back into their pants, and then he bundled Peter into his lap, so Peter was sitting on Wade’s legs instead of the cold rooftop. _

_ “So...you’re a bit of an exhibitionist, huh?” _

_ Peter laughed. _

_ “Yah, think?” he teased. And then, Peter felt an unwelcome stab of self-consciousness. “Did you—uh…” _

_ Wade waited patiently. _

_ “Did you really like it?” Peter asked. “Like this, I mean,” he said, gesturing around them. The roof was breezy, and Peter shivered. Wade’s arms came around him to bring him closer, one of his hands made its way into Peter’s hair, rubbing comforting circles in his scalp. Peter always ran cooler than most. In contrast, Wade was always like a furnace, so they were a good pair. _

_ “Fuck yes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like having sex at home too. I like banging you anywhere. This was...super hot though.” _

_ Peter grinned, pressing his mouth into Wade’s shoulder. On impulse, he bit down. _

_ Wade jolted and hissed. _

_ “Dear lord. You’re like some sex demon. You’re gonna kill me with dick.” _

_ Wade spread his hands across Peter’s ass as he brought their lips together, pressing Peter even closer. Wade’s hands often seemed magnetized to that particular part of Peter’s anatomy.  _

_ They made out a little bit, both halfway to hard again but in no rush to do anything about it. Peter liked it this way—slow and easy—the sweat cooling on their bodies, and Wade warm beneath him. _

_ Once they’d both gotten their sea legs and dragged themselves away from each other long enough to get dressed, Peter webbed them to Wade’s apartment. It was late at this point, but it seemed like New York was just waking up. _

_ They slipped in the open bedroom window and wasted no time getting out of their sweaty suits, and into the kitchen for a post-patrol, post-sex snack. They traded wet, open-mouthed kisses between bites of chocolate doughnuts in their underwear.  _

_ Later, Wade kept a hand on Peter’s hip as they stood, side-by-side brushing their teeth in his bathroom. And when they were minty-fresh and clean, they fell into bed, kicking off the covers. Peter climbed on top of Wade, peeling off his underwear before helping Wade do the same. _

_ Peter should’ve been tired by this point, but he was ready to go again. Wade stroked them both, easing the way with the lube that was always within reach. He turned Peter onto his side, and they lay like that, one of Peter’s legs thrown over Wade’s hip, Wade’s big hand wrapped around both of them, pulling them closer. He pushed and pulled Peter away and then back again, a slow rocking that guided Peter gradually over the edge.  _

_ It was a familiar rhythm for them both, and it wasn’t long before Peter felt his orgasm build. Wade brought them both to completion, and when Peter came, Wade swallowed up his shuddering groan in a kiss. Peter panted into Wade’s mouth, riding the wave of euphoria that sent sparks of white through his vision. He mouthed at Wade’s skin, waiting for the muscles in his legs to stop jumping sporadically. _

_ Wade cleaned them both up with his discarded underwear, and Peter fell asleep, butt naked, sweaty body pressed against Wade’s in the heat of the bedroom. _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

The first thing Peter noticed was the feeling of something pressing against his leg. He turned to see the Deadpool dog pawing at his leg.

“You followed!” The dog jumped up, doing its best to knock Peter over and lick a trail of saliva across his face.

“He must’ve made contact with you just as we jumped,” Cable said, clearly not pleased. “We don’t have time to bring him back.”

“So we don’t. He can come with,” Peter said, kneeling down to pet at the dog that eagerly leaned into his hands.

“We’re not taking pets on our mission.”  
“Not a fan of dogs?”

“It’s too dangerous for him to be with us.”

Peter eyed the still-weeping sores on the dog’s chest.

“Seems like it was dangerous for him back there too,” Peter pointed out.

Their argument was cut short by a voice calling out.

“First time dimension-hopping?” 

Peter looked over to see a Deadpool with a bright blond ponytail poking out of their mask, sipping cooly from an impractically large slushie.

“Try the dozenth or so,” Peter said tiredly, dropping the belt carrying empty web cartridges onto the floor.

Like most of the Deadpools they encountered, this one barely batted an eye at their odd entrance. And thankfully, she seemed much more friendly than some of the others they’d encountered. Instead of Wade, she went by Wanda, but otherwise, she was like any of the other Deadpools. She was fully suited up with a mask and gloves, and had a ridiculous fluffy pink robe over the top of it all.

“We need sanctuary for a day or two,” Cable said as explanation, and Wanda didn’t fight him on it—seeming to realize she wasn’t going to get a better explanation out of him. She eyed the gun strapped to his back hungrily, and then directed Cable to the kitchen table for a workspace.

Cable needed time to run calculations on the dimension hopper, and fix the device after it got knocked around somehow in the fight with Stryfe’s soldiers. Peter was grateful for the break. They were running on fumes, and seemed no closer to finding Hope. They both needed a breather.

Wanda’s place was the messiest they’d seen yet—which was saying something considering they’d recently come from a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It looked a lot like the house the first Deadpool they ran into had been living in, or some of the apartments Peter’s Wade owned. But it rivalled those places with the sheer amount of stuff packed into it. The floor was hardly visible beneath grenades, dirty laundry, and boxes of takeout. 

The walls were decorated with more of her arsenal, and stains of varying shades of brown and red that Peter really didn’t want to think about. The smell irritated Peter’s nose. But for the moment, his Spidey sense was blissfully silent, so as far as he was concerned, it was one of the nicer dimensions.

“What’s up with tall, silver-haired, and broody?” Wanda asked, nodding towards Cable who’d set up shop at her kitchen table, and seemed content to ignore them both.

“He’s looking for someone. She might be in danger, but we just keep hitting dead ends. It feels like we’re hitting our heads against a wall. But I got a dog version of Deadpool now, so that’s a plus, right?”

Dogpool woofed, clearly pleased with being acknowledged.

“Sounds stressful. Take a load off. You and the mutt can relax for a bit.”

She shoved at a pile of food wrappers and a shoe to clear off a spot—he really hoped it didn’t still have a foot inside, but based on the smell he wasn’t hopeful. He took a moment to decide if he cared about how disgusting the couch was, but he was too tired to give a shit and threw himself down onto it. Dogpool ambled over, sniffing around some old taco wrappers.

Wanda sipped loudly from her straw before reaching out to pat Peter’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Feel free to use La Maison de Deadpool as your home away from home. Chill out, eat a pizza bagel or two, or three. I’ve got food in the fridge. I think. Then you guys can get back to your super-important, world-saving mission.”

The sympathetic pat turned into something more like a grope of his upper arm, which turned into her massaging where his shoulder met his neck. The motion pulled at his shirt, tugging at the baby hairs at his neck where they were stuck together by dried blood he must have missed when he cleaned himself up.

Peter jolted at the feeling. He stood, knocking Wanda’s hand from his shoulder.

“Do you have a shower I can use?” he asked. 

Wanda sighed, and set aside her slushee before guiding him to a small room down the back hallway.

“I’ve been a bit busy. The bedroom’s through there,” she pointed down the hallway. “Feel free to sleep there with the dog. Grumpy can have the couch.”

“I doubt he’ll be sleeping much,” Peter said.

Wanda hummed thoughtfully, and eyed Peter a moment longer before leaving him.

Peter shut and locked the door to the bathroom, sitting himself at the edge of the tub. He pulled out his phone. It was on its last legs, but he’d be able to charge it tonight. He dialled the familiar number and pressed send.

It rang, and rang. Wade’s recorded voice greeted him, and Peter held back a sigh.

There was a beep.

“It’s been a long few...weeks? However long I’ve been gone. I hope it hasn’t been too long on your end. Cable says he’ll get me home on time but...well, you know what he’s like.”

Peter ran his hand through his hair, and winced when he felt how greasy it had gotten.

“The last couple dimensions were...rough. I don’t know what we’re doing anymore. Cable keeps saying we’re getting closer, but we haven’t found anything really. We just keeping running into dead-ends. I don’t know at this point.”

Peter took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. It didn’t relax him at all, his shoulders still felt tense. He couldn’t shake the images of the dimensions they’d seen—Deadpool shooting Spider-Man, doggie Deadpool forced to jump through fire, Stryfe snapping his fingers. Peter shook his head, stopping that image in its tracks.

“I miss you, Wade. All I know is that I need one of those bubble baths you always do for us. The ones that smell nice. I know I teased you about those jasmine-scented candles, but those would be nice right now. It’d be nice to be there with you.”

Peter held back a sniff. He just wanted to have a good long cry.

“I’ll see you soon,” Peter signed off.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and let out a breath that caught somewhere in his chest.

“I don’t know about saving all of mutant-kind as we know it, but I can help with the bubble bath,” Wanda said.

Peter startled. He hadn’t even noticed her opening the bathroom door, but there she was, leaning in the doorway, watching him with a curious expression. The dog was close at her heels, nosing the door further open so he could trot in and sniff at Peter’s shins. His tail waggled in a wonky back-and-forth motion.

Wanda nudged Peter off the tub and over to sit on the toilet lid. He watched as she ran a bath, testing the temperature and humming to herself, chatting as she filled it with bubbles for him. The background noise was familiar, even if the voice was a bit different. He was used to Wade chattering away with the Boxes. All the while, Peter pet at doggie Deadpool’s matted fur, the dog’s skin warm and rough under his fingers.

She didn’t have any candles, but Wanda did bring him a rubber ducky, a single-serve boxed wine, and a towel she assured him was probably mostly clean.

Peter got half undressed before he realized she was still there.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, lingering in the doorway. She tapped her nails against the door, staring at him for a moment, eyes trailing down his chest. “Take your time,” she said with a wink. And then she left, shutting the door behind her, so it was just him, the dog, and the bubbles.

He undid his pants, peeling off the very dirty pair of jeans. His pants crinkled when he pulled them off, and when he reached into the pocket, he found a piece of folded up paper. It took a few moments to remember that it was the note he’d pulled from the trash at the X-Mansion.

He stared at it, reading through the words again, but it didn’t make any more sense than it did the first time he’d seen it. Interpreting literature had never been his forte, and he wasn’t familiar with the source material anyway, so he didn’t know what to look for. And why had that other Wade gotten a note written in the same pen? If Wade were here, he’d probably be able to help—Peter had been delighted when he found out that Wade was secretly a bit of a literary nerd.

Peter’s vision was fuzzing a little at the edges from his exhaustion at this point. The words swam before him, so that the slightly baffling message became an incoherent mass of red and glitter.

“Cable’s probably right,” Peter said to Dogpool who was sniffing at the bubbles in the tub. “It’s probably just nonsense.” He shed the last of his clothes, and set the note on top of the pile.

When he got into the bath he practically melted in the warmth. This was the first bath he’d had since he joined Cable on this wild goose chase. And the first moment where he could really relax. Cable kept them running and searching almost constantly, and as much as Peter was eager to get home, he was wiped out. It felt almost spiritual to wash the grease and dirt from his hair. And after finishing off the boxed wine he was loose-limbed. 

He hopped out of the tub when the water had cooled, and his toes went all pruney. The dog tried to lick the soap off him, but Peter shooed him away, and dried off, putting on pajamas he found folded up and left just inside the bathroom door. His dirty clothes were gone, but the note had been left behind on the toilet lid. He would have felt concerned by how he didn’t notice the door opening at any point during his bath, but he was too tired to care much. 

He grabbed the mysterious note. His damp fingertips smeared at “some sphere unknown”. Again, he found himself reading it through.

A damp nose nudging at his side startled him out of his reverie. 

“You probably could use a cleaning, huh?” Bits of dirt and dried blood were caked in the dog’s fur. Dogpool stared up at him with doleful eyes.

He tucked the note into the pocket of his pajamas, and knelt down to pet at the dog. Dogpool’s tail wagged vigorously, thumping against the side of the tub.

Peter let out some of the water, so he could refill it with warmer water. It took some wrangling to get Dogpool into the tub, but once he was submerged in the soapy water, he seemed content to let Peter rub at his skin and work out the muck. Peter cleaned out the sores on the dog’s body, and he had to cut out some of the more stubborn knots in Dogpool’s fur. By the time they were finished, the water was a murky reddish-brown, and Dogpool was much less pitiful looking.

Peter ducked out of the room just as Dogpool started to shake off, and made his way out into the hallway. The light in the kitchen was still on, so he went to check on Cable. 

The inside of the dimension hopper was sitting open on the table. The inside seemed to be composed of gears that clicked and vibrated. The whole thing shimmered and shivered, and generally put Peter’s spidey sense on edge, like it was a bomb ready to go off at any moment.

Cable looked up from where he was soldering something in the inner workings of the device. Peter stayed a decent distance from it, getting an odd electric tingle at the back of his neck and a twist in his gut every time he got too close.

“How is it going?” Peter asked.

“We don’t have a trail,” Cable said. “We’ve got nothing.”

“That’s not good enough. We can’t just give up. Let’s go back to square one. How did you start looking for her when you first realized she was missing?”

Peter felt like Aunt May talking younger Peter through a difficult time—like when she found him knee-deep in a pile of textbooks and furiously scrawled notes after he realized that he’d written down the date of an exam wrong, and had a day to cram rather than a full week.

“I used her energy signature. But clearly the device isn’t working. It can’t get a proper lock on her.”

It was like banging his head against a brick wall.

“Okay, just hear me out. What if you’re wrong?” Peter asked.

Cable frowned.

Peter barrelled on ahead, hoping to head-off Cable’s explanation of how the device worked for the dozenth time.

“What if there is a reason the device keeps taking us to all of these places? You said it’s supposed to be taking you to the best possible dimension for finding Hope. It’s trying to take you to her. So what if it’s not glitching, or mistakenly locking onto what I want.” 

Peter saw Cable at least considering what he was saying, which was something. Buoyed by the hope that Cable was going to keep listening, Peter continued.

“Maybe I’m wrong, and the thing is completely broken. And all the Deadpools it’s been taking us to are just the device messing up. But what if it’s not? What if you’re wrong, and there’s some cosmic reason it keeps bringing us to these particular dimensions. What if Deadpool is the answer to finding Hope?”

Cable eyed him dubiously. Peter saw the conflict play across his face, his brow furrowing, mouth pulling further into a frown.

“That’s not how it works,” Cable said stubbornly.

After trying and failing to have a civil conversation with Cable about their plan, Peter gave up. All he got was more hastily-worded explanations that he couldn’t parse about physics beyond his understanding.

He left feeling scolded, and a lot like when he’d mistakenly gone to the wrong classroom after staying out too late patrolling, and the professor had belittled him until he left to go cry in the bathroom.

In the end, he left Cable to his own devices. He didn’t want to think about the mission, or the dimensions. He was too tired. Instead, he made his way to the little alcove by the window where, upon further investigation, he found a bench seat beneath all the weapons and empty food wrappers.

This was where Wanda found him a few minutes later.

“I bet he doesn’t know how it works either, and he’s just being a dick about it,” Peter muttered when Cable made another noise in the kitchen.

“From what I hear about him, you’re not wrong,” Wanda said by way of greeting.

Peter turned to see her grinning at him—smile poking out from where her mask was rolled up so she could snack on a plate of what seemed to be tiny sausage rolls. She was also somehow managing to balance two steaming mugs on the side of the plate.

“Scooch, nerd,” Wanda said, already plopping down on the sill beside him, barely leaving Peter enough time to scoot to the side and avoid becoming a seat for her.

She set one of the mugs of hot cocoa on the sill beside him, shoving over a handful of bullets in the process, and then plopped the plate of rolls into her own lap. She pushed the other mug into his hands.

Peter eyed the sunset through the nearby rainstorm. The sky was turning brilliant shades of orange, purple, and pink.

“Nice sky,” Peter said.

Peter took a sip and choked a little at the kick. She’d spiked it with what tasted like rubbing alcohol.

“Climate change,” she said. “After Cap elected himself President of the US of Assholes, he did away with Congress and the House of Representatives.”

“Wait, Cap? As in, Steve Rogers?” Peter asked, stunned.

“The very same,” Wanda said. “And after Mr. Spangles himself took over, he started putting through laws on his own. Took away the cap on greenhouse emissions. Roxxon and about a dozen other big corporations went to town. And then, voila. Crazy rainstorms every other day, and droughts in the other half of the country. Makes for a pretty sunset though.”

“Who’s left? Of the heroes I mean. Is anyone standing up to the Captain?” Peter asked. He knew he shouldn’t get invested. It wasn’t his dimension. But he couldn’t help but worry. If he could stay and help, he would.

“This country’s a mess,” Wanda said, sounding half-bored, speaking around a mouthful of pastry. “I should just go back to Canada, but somehow I’ve gotten roped into this arch-nemesis thing with Cap. Like I’m some kind of superhero. He must’ve gotten my costume mixed up with someone who actually gives a shit.”

She swallowed and gave a loud burp.

“It is satisfying to fuck his shit up though,” she said, using her fingers to pick up the remains of crumbs from the sausage rolls. She still had her gloves on, so she ended up licking off bits of pastry from the leather.

She sounded half-bored, like she couldn’t give two shits about what was going on, but if she was anything like the other Deadpools, Peter thought that she probably cared. Deep down.

Peter watched her nudge aside a bowl, upending the desiccated pasta in it—which Dogpool, bless his stomach of steel, started to devour—revealing a newspaper crossword puzzle underneath. The puzzle was ringed with mug stains, and looked half-completed in pen. She propped it on one knee, and reached into the pile beside her, a few moments later her hand miraculously emerged with a sparkly pen with a little unicorn at the top.

Peter sipped at his hot cocoa. It tasted better with each sip, and left him feeling warm.

“Sixteen down. ‘Desire for a certain thing’/ ‘feeling of trust’. Four letters,” Wanda read out.

She took a chug from her cup. Some infomercial for steak knives played on the tv nearby.

“Also, ‘famous vaudevillian opposite Bing Crosby in ‘Road to Morocco’ and ‘Road to Bali’,” Wanda said.

Peter thought back to the few times he remembered getting sick before the spider bite, and when May would chance calling into work to look after him. He’d been hopped up on cold medicine at the time, but he vaguely recalled those movie titles.

There was a whirring noise from the kitchen. Wanda tapped her pen against her knee.

“Looks like Beautiful Mind over there is gonna be up all night.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do. I mean, what must my Wade be thinking? Who knows when Cable will get us home.  _ If _ he’ll get us...It’s all just so…”

“Hopeless?” Wanda said.

“Ha ha. Like every other Deadpool hasn’t already made that joke with us,” Peter said.

“Your Deadpool’s losing his mind, no doubt. If you two are as close as you’re making it seem.” Wanda stopped and shook her head, looking stunned for a bit. “Which is weird to think about. Because my world’s Spider-Man was some idiot kid who got himself killed by Cap.”

Peter’s face must have conveyed his curiosity, because Wanda waved him off.

“Long story. Not a great ending obviously,” Wanda said. “Point is, it’s weird to see someone talk about a Deadpool like you do. You really love him, don’t you?”

“I really do,” Peter said honestly. 

“And, let me guess. You two are idiots who haven’t told each other this,” she said, chugging her hot cocoa. She wiped at her mouth with the back of one of her gloves. “Course, there wouldn’t be enough drama if you just communicated like mature adults.”

There was a pause, and she cocked her head to the side as if listening.

“Touché,” she muttered.

She brushed off her lap, pushing crumbs onto the floor and knocking aside the crossword puzzle and her mug so that the last dregs of hot cocoa spilled onto the cushion beneath her.

“Well, it’s been real,” she said, hopping up. “But I get hives if I talk too long about feelings. You need anything else?”

“Clean sheets?” he asked.

She looked thoughtful, and wiggled her head back and forth a bit like she was thinking.

“I’ve got clean-adjacent sheets,” she said.

Peter took the bed, as promised. He didn’t fight it much. He figured he’d earned a bed at this point, even though a voice that sounded an awful lot like Aunt May at the back of his head told him that he was being a bad guest. It didn’t matter though, because apparently Wanda wasn’t giving up her bed at all. She joined him. The dog did too.

Peter found himself curled on one side of the bed with Wanda curled around his back, and the freshly cleaned mutt half-wrapped around his head. Wanda smelled like maple bacon chips and the same vanilla soap she’d used for the bubbles of his bath. With her tucked up behind him, he could almost pretend he was home if not for the tickle of her curls at his neck, and the smell of the dog’s breath.

“I know you’re bummed about this whole never-ending, hide-and-seek game with an ultra-powerful mutant, and about being Doctor and Rose Tyler-ed with your Wade, but...how about a hand job?”

“What?”

The dog snuffled, lifting his head and giving Peter a baleful look when Peter jostled the bed.

“You’re right. Not the time. Can you blame me for giving it a shot though?” Wanda asked, pulling Peter back into her arms.

He settled, a bit more hesitant this time.

Being a little spoon to Wanda was so similar to cuddling Wade, but just different enough to be disconcerting. Besides the mass of hair that kept almost getting into his mouth, there was the obvious softness of her chest where he was used to a more firm chest being pressed to him. But what was most disconcerting, was how not different it was. The way her arm tensed every time he moved. It was like she was waiting for him to hop up and throw her off the bed. Wade was the same way—like every time they touched it might be the last.

“Nighty night, Spidey. Things’ll be better in the morning,” Wanda whispered.

He felt the weight of her leg flung around his hip, and the rhythmic snuffle of her breath against his neck. The dog still smelled a bit musty, but he was warm on the pillow.

For whatever reason, Peter’s brain finally remembered those old movies from being sick. The last sparks of consciousness in his brain popping like popcorn.

“Hope,” Peter said.

“Huh?” Wanda asked muzzily.

“Sixteen down,” Peter whispered. “Bob Hope.” Wanda was already asleep at his back and Doggie Deadpool growled in dreamland.

Peter joined them in sleep soon after.

  
  
  
  


The next day found them about where they’d started, but this time with more sleep. On Peter’s end anyway. It didn’t look like Cable had gotten much rest. When Peter and the dog went to the kitchen to get food, they found Cable about where they’d left him last night—hunched over his dimension hopper at the table. The only changes were the empty food wrappers around him and the deepening of the circles under his eyes. That, and the fact that the dimension hopper was mostly put back together.

Cable grunted in acknowledgement, but otherwise wasn’t available for coherent human conversation, which suited Peter just fine. All he wanted was coffee and food.

Wanda was at the stove, systematically frying up eggs and bacon that, upon closer inspection, Peter could see were largely burnt. He was hungry enough not to care though. He snagged himself a plate and a tortilla from the package beside Wanda’s elbow, shifting aside to avoid it becoming collateral damage to her excited flailing. Wanda seemed to be having a lively conversation with the Boxes, and perhaps also with the dog seated beside her slippered feet that was tracking her hands with its bulging, wet eyes.

He scooped up eggs and bacon from the growing pile on the plate next to the stove.

“Here, Petey-pie, some hot sauce to give it a little kick,” Wanda said, grabbing a bottle from the counter.

“Caffeine?” Peter asked, expertly sliding his plate away from the spray of hot sauce she unleashed when she tipped the bottle over his plate.

“Timeslip over there is bogarting it,” Wanda said, nodding towards where Cable was indeed drinking straight from a coffee carafe.

“What do you think my chances are of getting it away from him?” Peter asked, folding over his make-shift breakfast burrito and taking a bite.

Wanda leaned down to feed the dog some bacon, which he happily snapped up, half-choking in his excitement.

“Not great,” Wanda said. “But I’ve got one of those one-cup coffee deals under that pile of stuff over there I think. House-warming gift,” she said, indicating the corner of the counter where there indeed was a pile of dirty dishes and maybe a coffee pot under the stuff that was about to topple over.

Peter decided it wasn’t worth the risk of getting buried under all that junk just to get at some coffee.

“Sorry, it’s an episode of ‘Storage Wars’ in here. I don’t get many visitors,” she said.

Peter finished off another burrito and brought a plate of food to Cable who mechanically ate as he looked over a paper filled with equations. When Wanda finished cooking, she sat on the floor, feeding herself and the dog the remains of breakfast. She managed to pry the coffee carafe from Cable’s hands, but only because it was empty by that point, and she made a fresh pot.

Peter sipped at his coffee, and watched Wanda wander in and out, getting ready as she went. She snagged a shirt from the dish drying rack, and oddly a bra from the freezer. Bit by bit, she got dressed, and Peter’s coffee cup emptied.

Finally, she came back, fully dressed in civilian clothes and a mask, with a sparkly fanny pack at her waist.

“Put on some pants, pretty boy!” she announced, tossing a pair of jeans at Peter. He caught them just before they smacked into his face. “You can be my pack mule. I’ve always wanted a strapping young lad to carry my things for me,” Wanda announced, grin wolfish.

Once Peter was dressed, Wanda dragged him down to the street to catch a taxi. She had him lug bags of dirty laundry, which they dropped off at a laundromat. Then, they made another stop at an apartment even dirtier looking than hers, where they met a greasy, scrawny-looking woman who seemed to be a female version of Weasel. Wanda exchanged a manilla envelope for a stack of a cash that Weasel cheerfully counted out before slamming the door in their faces.

Next, Wanda took him to the mall. It looked a lot like his own dimension’s shopping malls, except there were police officers everywhere, and they were in full riot gear, which Wanda assured Peter was the norm. 

He sat outside of a dressing room in an upscale store while she tried on dozens of expensive dresses as the anxious sales clerk wrung his hands and sent wide-eyed looks to his coworker whose fingers kept twitching toward the mall security phone.

After she bought none of the dresses, and narrowly avoided getting security called on them, she dragged him to the food court where she bought him a giant cinnamon bun. He picked at the misshapen treat.

“A watched kettle never boils,” Wanda said.

“Huh?”

“You,” she said, gesturing to where Peter had decimated his cinnamon bun into tiny pieces. “Worrying, and waiting around for Cable to finish his repairs isn’t going to help anything.”

Peter frowned.

“I can’t just sit around though,” Peter said. “I’m supposed to be helping.”

Wanda speared her straw through the seal on her bubble tea, and rolled up her mask. A woman walking by gasped, and on reflex Peter sent her a hard look.

“I get it. You’re feeling crappy after your big face-off with Cable’s slightly grumpier clone. You thought it would be some epic showdown where the good guys win, and the bad guys lose. You’d go all ‘in the name of the moon’ and ‘for love and justice’, and then  _ kapow! _ he’d be down for the count.” She karate chopped at the air to go with the sound effect. “You’d toss him in the clink and throw away the key, and justice would be served.”

Peter winced. It sounded horribly naive when Wanda spelled it out like that.

“But instead, it was more of a failure than when  _ The Walking Dead _ decided to kill off...that one character. I don’t know. To be honest I didn’t watch very far. A bunch of white dudes going on and on about their feelings. Not really my thing. The point is— _ shut up there is a point _ ,” she hissed the last part towards the potted fern beside the table. “The point is, things didn’t go the way you wanted, and you ended up covered in someone else’s liquified innards. Hey, I get it. We’ve all been there.”

Wanda put what was probably meant to be a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder. He couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his body at the reminder of someone’s insides not long ago being coated on his own outsides.

Wanda sucked through the straw, and straight away seemed to inhale a tapioca ball. She coughed, and Peter patted at her back until she stopped choking.

“Think of it like this,” Wanda said, voice a bit husky from the tapioca ball still lodged in her throat. “Maybe you taking a break will help. If you get some sleep, take a couple bubble baths. Pamper yourself.” She gestured around them. “Then you’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to fight another day.”

Peter shoved a bite of cinnamon bun into his mouth, more to avoid replying than anything else.

Wanda steadily sucked down her bubble tea, blatantly checking out a woman waiting in the line for the Burger Queen.

The advice sounded so...reasonable. It was what Ned told him whenever Peter worried Spider-Man wasn’t doing enough. It was what Wade told him when he was certain he was failing at school and work, and balancing time with May and Ned. The whole world was telling him to chill the fuck out. But somehow it still felt like he couldn’t, like he shouldn’t be allowed to.

There were people in different dimensions who were fighting for their lives, and for their sanity. And he had no way of knowing what was going on back at home. Was May safe? Was Wade okay?

Wanda nudged his cinnamon bun closer to him.

“Finish off your bun, Hot Buns. Then we’re getting frozen yogurt. Mama needs some ice cream,” she said. “And then maybe we’ll get a manicure. My last one got chopped off. But only if you can chill the fuck out.”

Peter physically forced his shoulders down from where they’d almost been meeting his ears. He hadn’t realized that a tension headache had been building until he relaxed. It felt like someone had reached inside him and twisted the muscles in his neck and jaw into knots. He unclenched his jaw. He took a deep breath, and then let it out with a sigh.

Finally, he nodded.

“Sure, sounds good.”


	16. Kidpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end. They leave Wanda’s to keep looking, and end up finding help from an unexpected source.

**_Flashback..._ **

_ “I missed out on so much. I was just sitting on my couch like a lump. I need to get my life back on track. I’m close to graduating, and I’m pretty okay on rent money. So...I’m thinking maybe Spider-Man needs to get out there and start working with teams. I know I’ve always been a ground-level spider, but I could be doing so much more.”  _

_ Peter watched May’s face carefully for her reaction.  _

_ “That sounds great,” May said, offering Peter a smile. Peter answered it with one of his own. “But make sure you’re taking it in baby steps. Don’t go overextending yourself.” _

_ Peter’s smile faltered. _

_ “What does that mean?” Peter asked, hearing suspicion in his own voice. _

_ May fixed Peter with a careful look. _

_ “Be careful about taking on more than you can handle. There’s no need to go burning yourself out. There’s no rush for school or Spider-Man stuff.” _

_ “I’m fine,” Peter said curtly. _

_ “Sometimes we bite off more than we can chew,” May said, the same tone she had whenever Peter had asked about his parents when he was younger; like she was choosing her words very carefully to avoid upsetting him. _

_ “You mean you don’t want me spiralling back into a deep dark depression, and not talking to you for months on end.” Peter said it as a joke, but he couldn’t help the pit of something in his stomach that felt like disappointment. Was everyone just waiting for him to fall off the deep-end again? _

_ “I just don’t want you knocking yourself back into that dark place like before. I don’t want you to hurt yourself by pushing too hard,” May said. _

_ “I know I was bad. I was a shitty friend to Ned, and an even shittier nephew,” Peter said, unable to keep himself from sounding bitter. His go-to when he was feeling criticized was self-flagellation. No one could hurt him if he hurt himself first. As far as coping mechanisms went, a therapist would probably have a field day. _

_ “That’s not what I meant,” May said, sounding and looking painfully earnest. _

_ It was bad enough that Peter was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but to think that everyone else was too made it more real somehow. Maybe he was doomed to lose this bit of happiness he’d been having lately. Maybe it was all on a countdown clock, the friendship, the good times with May, his relationship with Wade.  _

_ Maybe he was just running in place, not making any progress. _

_ “That’s why it’s so important I stick with the plan,” Peter said, jabbing at the table in emphasis. “If I just stay on track, then there won’t be some big meltdown.” _

_ “I know you’re strong. Stronger than I ever could have hoped,” May said. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.” _

_ It had sounded so airtight in his head, but now May had gone and poked holes in the plan, and all his confidence was deflating. _

_ “It’ll work,” Peter said. “I promise.” _

_ May reached out to grab Peter’s hand between hers. _

_ “Just take care of yourself, alright?” _

  
  
  
  
  


**_Present..._ **

“Think of it like renting a porno.” 

Somehow Peter found himself in a pair of Deadpool boxers he borrowed from Wanda, and wearing one of the pink fluffy robes she had strewn about the place. And now he was perched on her counter, listening to her describe the multiverse to him.

“I’ve never done that.”

They’d stayed another night, and all the while Cable had been working at the device—hemming and hawing, and frowning at it. When Wanda and Peter returned from their day out, the device was back to being in itty bitty pieces on the table, as though he’d undone the work from the night before. Wanda kept Peter busy, steering him away from Cable every time Peter went to check on his progress, as though she was the mind-reader.

“Of course you haven’t, you gentle, sweet child. It’s like this. You can rent one flick, and it’ll be unique, but it’s also gonna have the same general story as a bunch of other ones, and probably the same actors. With me so far?” Wanda explained.

“I think so,” Peter said, not quite sure where this metaphor was going, or even if it would be helpful.

“There’s a whole bunch of different flicks to choose from, and you can access them, you just need to know where to look. When you pay for one, there’s a record of it. Little ones and zeroes keeping track somewhere. And if someone knows where to look, they’d be able to look at that record and know what you’ve seen.”

“This is actually weirdly making sense,” Peter said. “Why is it you could barely be bothered to explain the mechanics this last month or so, Cable, whereas Wanda here explained it in less than a few minutes?”

Wanda looked smug.

“Wait, but how does knowing all that help us?”

Wanda walked over to Peter, boots clomping against the floor.

“It’s not about where you think she’s going. It’s about where she’s been, hot stuff.”

She booped Peter on the nose. Her finger smelled like Funyuns and taco meat.

“What?”

Wanda opened her mouth, but whatever she’d been about to say was cut off by Cable’s first full sentence of the day.

“I’ve repaired the damage to the device,” Cable said.

“Good morning to you too,” Wanda said.

Cable stood for the first time in hours and made a beeline for the coffee. Wanda shoved a mug into his hands before he could drink straight from the pot again. Cable drank down half of his mug of coffee before he spoke.

“I’m not too proud to admit that I was wrong,” Cable said, apropos of nothing.

Wanda snorted. Dogpool startled at the noise and made a pitiful whimpering noise until Wanda fed him some leftover eggs.

“So you admit you’re wrong,” Peter said, triumphantly, and then he mentally back-tracked. “Wait, what were you wrong about?”

“Obviously the device has latched onto Wade’s signature somehow,” Cable continued.

“Yah think?” Peter snarked, unable to keep the mental repetition of ‘I told you so’ on a loop for the moment. Cable gamely put up with it.

“When I fixed the device, I also attuned it specifically to him. If we can’t find Hope’s energy signature, perhaps we can find Wade, and figure out why it keeps leading us to him.”

Wanda cleared her throat.

“And to variations of him,” Cable amended. “We’re leaving.”

After Cable finished draining the rest of the coffee, they’d packed up their things, they were ready to go. They didn’t have much—just some clothes, a few new weapons for Cable courtesy of Wanda, and a couple packed lunches she’d made that really were just leftovers she scavenged from the fridge and crammed into kid’s lunch boxes.

“Sleepover’s over huh?” Wanda said. “Well, if you’re leaving, you’re taking the mutt with you.”

Dogpool whimpered pathetically at her feet. Contrary to her words, she leaned down to pet him, and took a long moment to tell him what a good boy he was.

“We can’t take him,” Cable said gruffly.

Wanda sauntered over to Peter and dragged him in for a kiss, and a pat to the butt. It happened so quickly, he hardly had time to register it before she’d pulled back, and was making grabby hands for Cable. Something in Cable’s expression must have warned her off, because she didn’t try for a kiss with him, just patted him on the chest.

She nudged the dog with her foot, and Dogpool stumbled over to pant at them.

“Toodles,” Wanda said, waving goodbye with a grin on her face. “Sorry for the wait. It’ll all make sense in another chapter or so.”

Peter had a split second to puzzle over the words before he was being pulled to another dimension. By this point, Peter was used to the feeling of his insides being pulled out and shoved back in, and the nauseous, bad-wrong feeling of being in a dimension distinctly not his own.

Right away he saw they were in some kind of alley in a city based on the smell of garbage and gasoline, and the buildings boxing them in on either side. Dogpool stood between them, his teeth clamped down on Cable’s leg.

“Mangy dog,” Cable muttered.

“Good boy,” Peter said, about to lean down and praise the dog properly with ear scritches when a voice cut in.

“What are you doing in my alley?” 

Cable had his gun out in seconds, but Peter barely felt a tickle from his spidey sense. The person was very short, and in shadow until they stepped closer. It was a kid wearing a Deadpool mask. 

The kid had his chest puffed out, and held two bright blue glowing katanas. The image might have been more intimidating if he didn’t barely make it to Peter’s chest.

“I asked you a question, dipshits,” the kid said, clearly going for gruff but failing when his voice cracked a bit in the middle.

Cable put his gun away, but Peter couldn’t tell if it was because it was a kid he was pointing it at, or because he figured he wasn’t much of a threat.

“We’re just passing through,” Cable said.

“Yeah, well pass through faster. Or I’ll have to help you along.”

Cable eyed the device at his wrist, and Peter watched as he pressed a couple buttons.

“Looks like there isn’t an energy signature here at all. I don’t know why it brought us here,” Cable said.

Clearly, the kid in the mask wasn’t pleased at being ignored.

“Hey! I said get out of here,” the kid yelled, stepping closer. Peter would’ve dismissed the swords as toys, but the buzzing of his spidey sense said otherwise.

“What’s your name?” Cable asked.

The kid eyed them both dubiously.

“None of your damn business.”

Cable didn’t have to try to loom over the kid who probably barely reached his chest, and clearly the man wasn’t feeling patient right now, because he didn’t bother trying to put the kid at ease. Despite the boy acting combative, Peter saw the way he cringed away from Cable, his hands tightening around his katanas. This could devolve pretty quickly if they weren’t careful.

“Your parents must’ve been cruel to saddle you with that,” Peter teased.

The kid finally dragged his eyes from Cable to look at Peter. He snorted.

“I’m Peter,” Peter said, gesturing to himself. “And the grumpy old guy is Cable.” He nudged Cable with his elbow, sending a pointed thought the man’s way to get him to ease up.

Cable sighed, and rearranged his face in what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile, but just looked wooden.

The kid noticeably relaxed.

“Name’s Wade,” he said finally.

Peter didn’t know why it came as a surprise. Nothing should surprise him at this point.

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Cable said. “Just looking for somebody.”

“Well, look for them somewhere else,” the kid said.

The kid was the smallest of the Deadpools they’d seen so far—aside from the dog and the zombie head. He was practically drowning in his Spider-Man hoodie. Like most of the Deadpools, no strip of skin was showing. He had gloves and a mask on, and Peter couldn’t tell if it was just a fashion choice or an attempt to hide scars.

“Have you seen anybody...odd come through here?” Peter asked hopefully.

“You mean besides you and Old Man Mountain there?” Wade asked dubiously. “No, nothing weird,” he said.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen anything? Maybe heard something? Even if it might not seem important it could help us.”

The kid lowered his katanas, but didn’t put the weapons away entirely.

“Nope,” he said curtly.

“This is a waste of our time. He doesn’t know anything,” Cable said.

Peter sighed. Maybe it had just been a coincidence. Clearly little Wade was another dead end.

Dogpool wagged his tail, nudging at Peter’s hand until he pet his head.

“Maybe your dimension hopper took us here because of little Dogpool here,” Peter said hopefully, scritching at one of the dog’s ears, which earned him a pleased grumble.

“That’s not how it works,” Cable said, but he didn’t look so certain.

Cable said they couldn’t keep the dog, and lord knew Peter didn’t have the time to take care of pets that required more care than the stray cat that half-lived at his apartment. He would’ve left the dog with Lady Deadpool, but despite her affection for the dog, she didn’t seem keen on keeping him, and for whatever reason the dog had been determined to follow them.

Wade shifted uneasily, hefting a large backpack further up onto his shoulder. His clothes looked threadbare and dirty. Either he wasn’t fussed about personal hygiene, or he didn’t have a place to live and wash up.

Cable must have caught the thought before Peter even finished fully forming it.

“The dog shouldn’t mess with this dimension too much,” Cable whispered. 

Doggie Deadpool drooled.

“We can’t take him with us,” Peter said, pointedly directing the words to little Wade. He knelt down to scratch at the dog’s chest. Dogpool’s tongue lolled out.

Peter saw Wade eye Dogpool, no doubt looking at the dog’s sores, and patchy fur, and the mask pulled haphazardly over his face.

“And he can’t go back home to his own dimension…” Peter said, feigning frustration. “It wasn’t so nice there. So we need to find him a place…but the problem is where would we even take him? Who could take care of him?” He’d feel bad for manipulating this Wade if he didn’t think pairing Kidpool with Dogpool was such a good idea.

“I could!” Little Wade said.

Peter grinned.

“I mean, if you need someone to take him anyway,” Wade said, clearly trying to temper his excitement a little. Peter watched Wade toe at the ground nonchalantly, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t itching to reach out and pet the dog. “We already match,” he said, indicating his own mask.

“He’s got healing powers too,” Peter said.

“Healing? Me too!” little Wade crowed, sounding delighted. “He can be like my sidekick or something.”

“Or something,” Peter said with a smile.

Peter walked the dog over to little Wade. He didn’t miss the hopeful smile on Wade’s face as he eyed the pup.

“Might want to keep that under wraps. Don’t want any labs getting their hands on him.”

Peter saw the skin peeking out from between Wade’s gloves and hoodie that had ridden up in Wade’s excitement to pet the dog. His skin looked pock-marked and gnarled, like someone had microwaved a Ken doll for a minute or two.

Wade finally put his katanas away so he could lean down to pet the dog. Doggie Deadpool gave Wade a considering sniff and then face-planted into his chest. Little Wade giggled, a noise that Peter wanted to store away in his brain for a rainy day, to take out when he was feeling crummy.

Cable cleared his throat. Right, they couldn’t stay.

“Will you two be alright?” Peter knew most Deadpools were perfectly capable, but this wasn’t a grown up Deadpool. This Wade was just a kid. His now constant mantra of “we can’t interfere” played at the back of his head. As much as he wanted to, he knew they couldn’t stay and help Wade find a home.

“Dogpool and I’ll be just fine,” the kid said, reeling Dogpool in with an arm around his neck. The dog’s tongue lolled out, but he looked oddly pleased at the man-handling if the wiggling of his sore-ridden tail was anything to go by. “Wait til I show everyone a dog that can heal. This’ll be way better than toy robots. Now I just need to get a costume together so we match.”

Peter gave the dog one last pat, and offered little Wade a smile and a wave before he made his way back to Cable.

“Where to next?” Peter asked.

After a few moments of thought, Cable sighed.

“Wherever the device takes us. God help us all if Wade is the answer to mutant kind’s salvation.”

Peter felt a smile pull at his lips.

He reached out and put his hand on Cable’s shoulder. Cable lifted his wrist, and started twisting at the device.

“Hold up!” little Wade called out, stopping them in their tracks.

Wade gave Dogpool another pat on the head, not quite meeting Peter’s eyes as he spoke next.

“I lied before. I did see something. Something that might help you. I wasn’t sure I should say anything. They said I shouldn’t tell, because it could be dangerous, but I think you might be able to help.”

“What do you know?” Cable asked.

Wade eyed Cable warily, and beckoned Peter closer. When Cable made to follow, Wade shooed him back.

Peter knelt beside Wade. Squatting down, Peter’s shoulder was just below Wade’s. Wade leaned in close, conspiratorially.

“I know where to find what you’re looking for.”


	17. Interdimensional Hot Potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right back where we started.

Peter should have seen it coming. The way the dimension hopping device kept bouncing them from alternate dimension Deadpool to weirder alternate dimension Deadpool. He knew it wasn’t a coincidence or a mistake like Cable seemed determined to believe, but he hadn’t stopped and pieced together the evidence until now.

In the end, Hope was right back where they’d started.

“Hello again,” Peter greeted.

A familiar gun barrel with the words “Open Wide” on it, was inches from Peter’s face, and an unwelcome screech from his spidey sense made his head ache. He ignored the 5-alarm warning in his brain to take in his surroundings—a thick, muscled arm holding the gun, a familiar mess of dirty dishes, ammunition, and a Captain America mug steaming on the coffee table.

“Sorry, have we met?”

Peter frowned.

The gun redirected so it wasn’t pointed at him anymore, but past him at Cable.

“Fancy seeing you here, Priscilla. Breaking and entering is a little beneath your paygrade, isn’t it? Or is this a good old-fashioned assassination? Because I hate to break it to you, but that isn’t gonna stick.”

“You have Hope,” Cable said, staring Deadpool down.

Deadpool sighed, and pointed the gun a moment longer before lowering it. He put the gun on the coffee table. Then sat on the couch and kicked his legs up, nearly knocking his mug and gun off the table.

“I dunno, I’m pretty hopeless. Think you’ve got the wrong place.” He held his arms out wide, as though to gesture to the empty room.

Cable’s eyes narrowed. 

“Cut the crap. He told us you were hiding her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Scout’s honor,” Deadpool said, holding up a single-finger in what was definitely not a scout salute.

Peter’s web-shooters were empty at this point, the canisters he’d brought with him all empty as well, but he felt reassured by their weight on his wrists all the same. The hair at the back of his neck bristled, spidey sense tingling even though Deadpool was ostensibly just sitting on the couch.

“Out of curiosity...and not that I’m saying I have that alleged person, but who told you I knew where she was?” Deadpool asked.

Peter glanced at Cable, but Cable seemed content to let Peter do the talking.

“Kid Deadpool,” Peter said, smiling a little at the memory of teeny tiny Deadpool curling his arms around Dogpool as he’d affectionately called the pup. “He said you and Wanda have been keeping Hope safe. Playing a little interdimensional hot potato with her.”

“More like Keep Away,” Deadpool corrected. Deadpool crossed his arms and huffed. “Little twerp needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Some pretty boy bats his eyes and he spills the beans first chance he gets.”

“In his defense, I had just given him doggie Deadpool as a new best friend.”

“So the idiot takes bribes,” Deadpool grumbled. “Should’ve held out for cash. Or guns. Or cocaine.”

Peter felt the crumpled paper covered in glittery gel pen in his pocket jab at him through the lining.

“The note. That was you,” Peter said.

“Nah. That was all Wanda. She’s a dramatic fucker. Just finished The Da Vinci Code—she’s been going through this weird Nick Cage thing. Frankly I don’t get it. Anyway, she thought she’d be all cryptic and send you some clues. I told her it was a bad idea.”

Peter could practically feel Cable bristle beside him. 

“Take us to her,” Cable said through gritted teeth. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his eye was glowing.

“Who, Wanda?” Deadpool asked, tone teasing.

Peter saw Cable tense up even more. Before Cable could say something else that would piss Deadpool off and get weapons pointed at people—Peter shaped people—he stepped in.

“Let’s ease up on the testosterone,” Peter teased. “We’re not here for a fight. We just want to make sure Hope is safe.”

Deadpool finally looked away from Cable, eyeing Peter dubiously. Peter tried not to fidget under his gaze.

“She’s fine. Maybe a little bored from watching reruns of Wheel of Fortune, but fine.”

“I’m sure she is,” Peter said. “But we need to see her. Do you know where she is?”

Deadpool put his feet on the ground, leaning forward. Even sitting down it felt like he was looming over them.

“Kinda defeats the purpose of Keep Away,” he pointed out.

“Stryfe’s dead,” Cable said.

There was a squeaking sound like rubber against wood.

“How’d that happen? Forget to take his blood-pressure medication? Or did his run get cancelled? Cuz that whole darker-alternate-version-clone thing is definitely played out. I’m surprised they didn’t cut him sooner,” Deadpool said.

Peter saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He heard an intake of breath.

“She’s here, isn’t she?” Peter asked.

Cable seemed to follow Peter’s gaze. Before Peter could investigate the movement he’d seen, Cable was already stepping towards the other room. Deadpool was up in a flash, gun in hand. Peter stopped Cable with a hand to his chest.

“Thought I told you to stay put,” Deadpool called out, keeping his eyes on Cable and Peter. “Kids, huh? Never listen.”

“We’re not here to hurt her,” Peter insisted.

Deadpool cocked the gun.

“Hope. Remember what we talked about? Wanda will meet you there,” Deadpool said.

Peter expected Wade to shoot. He expected the familiar noise of someone hopping out of this dimension. What he didn’t expect was a small girl with bright red hair to step into the room.

“Hope,” Cable whispered.

Deadpool turned to follow Cable’s gaze.

“Jiminy Christmas, kid. What are you doing?” Deadpool sounded frantic. Peter watched him shuffle to the side as though to shield Hope with his body.

“It’s okay,” Hope said.

Peter didn’t know exactly what he had expected. Maybe a smaller version of Cable, gruff and frowny. She was younger than Peter had pictured, with a hesitant look on her face as she peered from under a huge baseball cap. Her mouth was set in a grim line, but more out of fear than severity.

Hope walked over and stared Deadpool down before nudging him aside. Even though she was much smaller than him, he let her push him out of the way.

“Are you sure?” Deadpool asked, gun still up and at the ready.

“He’s telling the truth,” Hope said, tapping at her head, and then pointing to Peter. It took a moment to realize what she meant. “He’s here to help.”

Deadpool looked at them suspiciously. Hope sighed, rolled her eyes, and pulled Deadpool’s hand down, aiming the gun at the floor.

“Stryfe’s really gone?” Deadpool asked. “You saw the body? Because if there’s no body, I’m not keen on dealing with a final act, surprise fake-out. Some people just can’t stay dead, you know?”

Peter tried not to think about the thud of that dimension’s Deadpool as he fell to the floor, the feeling of seeing and feeling another Wade die permanently only days before.

“He’s dead,” Peter said grimly.

Deadpool didn’t meet Peter’s eye though, he looked at Cable until the other man gave him a nod.

Hope ran up to Cable just as the man knelt down to meet her in a hug. His arms could’ve wrapped around her twice with how tiny she was. It made Peter all the more grateful to know that the Deadpools had been looking after her. It was nice to know that she hadn’t been on her own all this time, or even worse, in the hands of some villain like Stryfe.

Peter heard quiet sniffling as the two were reunited.

After a few moments, when Hope seemed a bit calmer, Cable pulled his face from where he’d pressed it into Hope’s hair. He looked up at Wade who was standing awkwardly off to the side, looking like he wanted this Hallmark moment to move out of his living room.

“You did good, Wade,” Cable said. “It was a smart plan.”

Peter felt his mouth drop open just as Deadpool’s jaw went slack. Peter had no doubt that under that mask, Deadpool’s cheeks were bright red. It seemed that Wades the multiverse over didn’t know how to take gratitude. Wade shook his head a little, and smacked one of his own cheeks like he was trying to knock reality back into place.

“Would’ve been better if you told me the plan,” Cable added.

This seemed to pull Deadpool back.

“Yeah, well. Just taking a page out of your playbook, Priscilla.”

“You could’ve asked for my help,” Cable retorted.

“Like you asked for help?” Peter chimed in before the bickering could get ugly. “How about we all agree that it worked out fine, and leave it at that.”

Cable looked sheepish. He stood, keeping a hand on Hope’s shoulder like he was worried she might slip away if he didn’t.

Deadpool and Cable eyed each other a moment before Deadpool shrugged and they both made noncommittal noises of agreement.

“We should head out,” Cable said firmly.

“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” Deadpool said, not unkindly.

Hope ducked away from Cable’s hand, making her way over to Deadpool. He watched her a bit like someone might watch a live grenade.

“Guess this is good-bye, jelly bean,” Deadpool said.

Hope eyed him a moment before flinging herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Deadpool held his arms up awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Finally, he settled for patting her on the head.

“Thanks Wade,” Hope muttered into Deadpool’s side. “And tell Lady Wanda thanks for the hot chocolate and doughnuts. And for the bubble bath. And for taking me to see the puppies. And letting me throw her knives.”

“Yeah yeah,” Deadpool said with a long-suffering sigh. “All I’m hearing is that Uncle Wadey isn’t as cool as Auntie Wanda.”

Hope pulled back to meet Deadpool’s eyes. Peter could just make out the very serious expression on her face.

“You only have one board game,” she said somberly. “And it’s for old people.”

“Who told you it was for old people? Until a couple weeks ago you didn’t even know board games. Clue is a cool game. Was it the kid? The zombie Deadpool head? Because he doesn’t even have a body, what does he know?! Talk, child!” Deadpool said, gently shaking her like he might knock the answer out of her.

Hope grinned at him, and dragged him down by a strap on his suit until she could press a kiss to his cheek.

“Bye, Uncle Wade,” she said sweetly. She patted his cheek.

Deadpool made like he was wiping the kiss of his cheek, but Peter could see the grin pulling at his mask.

“Make sure you grab the stuff Wanda bought you. I’m taking it to the dump otherwise,” Deadpool said, shooing Hope away.

She scampered off happily to the other room, stopping to snag Cable’s arm so she could drag him with her as she went.

That left Peter and Deadpool alone in the living room. Peter walked closer to him, until he was just within reach. Deadpool watched him, shoulders tense.

Hopefully he’d be seeing his own Deadpool soon, but he couldn’t help but want this last goodbye. In a way, he’d miss all of the Deadpools he’d met throughout their journey.

“Thank you for helping her,” Peter said. “You did a good job. All of the Deadpools did. Thank the others for me too?”

Deadpool’s eyes narrowed.

“Do I know you?”

“You haven’t met me yet, but we’ll be coming by some time,” Peter said. His brow furrowed as something occurred to him. “I guess you already knew about all this when you saw me then.”

“Time travel gets a little wonky like that,” Deadpool agreed.

“And who knows, maybe there’s a me in this world.”

“So I’m just supposed to look out for bootylicious brunettes in the personals?” Deadpool teased, making a show of leaning around to get a look at Peter’s butt. “Give me something else to go on, pretty boy.”

“It’s nice to know some things don’t change,” Peter said with a grin.

Before Peter could stop himself, he reached out to put a hand on Deadpool’s arm. Deadpool eyed his hand oddly, but didn’t brush him off.

“Take care of yourself, Wade,” Peter said, dragging his hand away from Deadpool’s shoulder.

Cable and Hope were waiting, having come back into the room at some point—not so patiently on Cable’s part. Peter settled himself in at Cable’s side, and reached out to hold on.

Peter turned back to Wade. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist giving a little hint. 

“Know any arachnid-themed superheroes?” Peter teased. He sent Wade a wink.

Well, a big hint.

Wade’s mouth dropped open, and Peter saw him mouthing something that looked like “no way,” just as they left.


	18. A Thousand Times Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A homecoming.

They appeared in Peter’s living room in the exact same place they’d stood a month ago. It looked the same as he left it, save for a little less clutter, as though someone had tidied up in his absence. It didn’t take him long to realize who the culprit was when he heard footsteps and Wade came into view.

Wade had a gun up and aimed at Cable in a matter of seconds, who pointed his gun right back. Well, this was certainly a familiar scene.

“Hey honey, I would’ve called ahead to warn you, but cell service in the multiverse sucks,” Peter greeted.

Wade had his mask on, but otherwise he was just in boxers and a t-shirt. Clearly, he’d made himself comfortable while Peter was gone.

“Petey!” Wade yelled excitedly. 

Peter saw him flick the safety on the gun, then toss it aside, thankfully onto the couch. He ran at Peter full-tilt, and Peter caught him around the middle just as Wade jumped at him. Wade clung to him like a koala for nearly a whole minute before Cable cleared his throat, ruining the moment.

“Priscilla,” Wade said, tone decidedly less warm as he climbed back down to the floor and turned to face the other man. “I hear I have you to thank for Petey-pie being gone for the last couple weeks?”

“Weeks?” Peter asked. “You said you could have me home the same day we left!”

Cable didn’t even have the decency to dignify Peter’s comments with a reply, instead he seemed more concerned with Wade.

“I needed his help with an important mission,” Cable said.

“Couldn’t have dropped by to say hi to your old pal Wade first? Maybe send an email, set up an appointment with Spidey’s secretary?”

“I have a secretary?” Peter mused.

Peter had the sudden image of Wade in a pencil skirt and glasses, and had to shake his head a little to refocus. Based on the pinched expression on Cable’s face, he’d picked up on the thought.

“About the issues with communication... That was my doing,” Cable said. He at least had the decency to look sheepish at the admission. “I may have adjusted the calls so the timing didn’t entirely line up with your own.”

“You kept my love-muffin from talking to me?!”

“Not liking that nickname,” Peter commented.

“I didn’t interrupt the calls entirely, just...delayed them. I wanted to avoid you following us,” Cable said. “I knew if anyone would find a way to track us, it would be you. It’s also why I blocked your messages to Peter.”

Peter took a deep, calming breath. It wouldn’t help anyone if he started throwing punches. The important thing was they were safe, and he got home with all his limbs intact.

“You and I are going to have words about the whole messing with my phone signal thing,” Peter threatened, pointing a finger at Cable as menacingly as he could. He tried for a glare, but didn’t know how effective it was cut off mid-yawn. “Once I get a good couple days of sleep. Then we’re having words.”

“And we can discuss the kidnapping,” Wade added, pulling Peter in against him, so Peter could tuck his face into Wade’s shoulder.

“And the kidnapping.” Peter nodded as though to agree, and then realized what Wade had said. “No. Not kidnapping,” Peter corrected.

Peter pulled back from the embrace to look at Wade, who was sending a death glare at Cable. Wade’s death glare looked much more effective than Peter’s glare had felt. To put a stop to all the unnecessary chest-thumping, and get Wade to focus on him, Peter grabbed Wade’s face and physically turned his head away from Cable.

“I wasn’t kidnapped.”

Wade nodded.

“Sure thing, baby boy,” Wade said, offering Peter a condescending pat on the head.

“I wasn’t,” Peter repeated. “I’m serious.”

“I know. Super duper serious,” Wade agreed, booping Peter on the nose.

Peter looked over to see Cable smiling. Honest to goodness, smiling. How long had Peter been awake? Was he hallucinating?

“Cable didn’t kidnap me,” Peter emphasized. “I agreed to help.” The last thing he needed was Wade getting riled up.

“Yuh-huh.”

Peter looked at Cable who was still inexplicably smiling. Then he looked at Wade who seemed equal parts happy to see Peter, and ready to fling himself at Cable and scratch his eyes out.

“I feel like you’re agreeing just to humor me,” Peter said.

“Mmm-hmm. You betcha.”

“And no matter what I say, you’re going to threaten Cable bodily harm—”

“Yeppers.”

“Which is the opposite of what I want,” Peter pointed out.

“Right-o.”

“It’d be much more productive to just have a threesome with him. Wouldn’t you agree?” Peter asked. If that didn’t distract Wade he didn’t know what would.

“Yuh-huh—Wait, what?” Bingo. Wade’s eyes were back on Peter with a laser-focus.

“There will be no threatening of Cable. Not right now anyway,” Peter said.

“Go back to that last part,” Wade said, eyes still fixed on Peter.

“You mean the part about Cable not kidnapping me?” Peter asked innocently.

“No, the last last part. The part about the you and me, and the horizontal tango for three. Or vertical, I’m not picky.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Cable said. “Thank you for your help, Peter.”

“Wait right there, mister, we’re not—” Wade lunged for Cable who side-stepped, sending Wade crashing into the wall.

It was at this point that Wade seemed to notice Hope standing behind Cable.

“You kidnapped a child too?!” Wade’s voice got impossibly high, and Peter had to physically restrain him to keep him from poking sharp stabby things into Cable like he was a big, muscle-y pincushion.

“No. No kidnapping. No one was kidnapped,” Peter corrected. “She’s his daughter.”

“Uncle Wade says Nate’s my mom,” Hope said. Peter would’ve thought she was just being cute, but he saw the mischievous gleam in her eye.

Cable sighed.

“Uncle Wade?” Wade asked. “I’m Wade.”

“Different Wade from another dimension. Another part of this really long story that can wait until later,” Peter said, leaning some of his weight on Wade. It felt heavenly just to make contact, and had the added bonus of keeping Wade from trying to stab Cable. Although, the presence of a child also seemed to be enough of a deterrent.

“So, ‘mom’ you want to skedaddle, and then we can have this meet and greet in the light of day?” Wade said, arms crossed. “Seems like it’s long past bedtime for little super-powerful mutant kiddos.”

Peter hadn’t noticed the darkness outside until now. No wonder Wade was in his boxers. They were honestly lucky he had those on when they arrived.

It would have been simpler to just let Cable leave and go find a hotel or somewhere to crash for the night, but then Peter eyed Hope, half-asleep and leaning against the back of the couch.

“They’re not going anywhere tonight,” Peter declared.

Cable and Wade stopped their odd smiling, half-threatening staring match to look at him in confusion.

“It’s late. And you could wake up the X-Men, or crash in some crappy motel, but that sounds terrible. How about you spare everyone the hassle and spend the night here. We’ll help you figure things out in the morning.”

Peter saw Cable glance at Wade, and then back at him.

“Thank you.” Cable said gratefully.

Peter shushed Wade before he could protest. It was time to pull out the big guns. He leaned even more against Wade and sighed, making a show of being tired. It wasn’t difficult to do, he did feel worn out.

“I’m exhausted. The sooner we get them tucked in, the sooner we can go to bed,” Peter murmured.

He felt Wade’s arm around his waist tighten. Wade sighed.

“Fine. But they leave first thing in the morning. No breakfast,” Wade insisted.

“Thank you, Wade,” Cable said.

“You wiggle off to bed, love muffin. I’ll get the child and Priscilla tucked in,” Wade said, giving Peter a pat on his butt.

“Not your love muffin,” Peter said, making a face at the pet name.

Peter let Wade press a kiss to his forehead and shove him gently in the direction of the bedroom. He was too tired to really argue at this point. He would’ve pushed for Hope to have the bed, but Cable wanted to be near the front door, and besides, Peter was too tired to argue anymore.

Peter stumbled his way to the bedroom, leaving Wade to get their guests set up in the living room. His room was neater than he remembered. The pile of clothes that usually decorated the floor had been picked up at some point. His bedside table that was normally a mess of sticky notes, USBs, pens, and knick-knacks was mostly bare—the only occupants a photo of May and the Spider-Man pig plushie he’d won for Wade at the arcade.

The bedding had even been changed out for something he liked, but that he didn’t remember owning. It had little chemical formulas and beakers all over it.

He tugged his shoes off, and tossed them aside, enjoying the thud as one of them hit the wall. His socks were next.

“So, I know the threesome’s off the table...for now. But how about you and I show those new sheets a good time?”

Peter turned around to see Wade casually leaning against the wall, with one foot up against it like he was a model posing for a photo.

Wade reached up and pulled his mask off, finally giving Peter a chance to see his eyes. He had dark circles under them as though he hadn’t slept much since Peter left. It was only now that Peter really registered that he’d been wearing the mask in Peter’s apartment, all alone. Either he’d developed clairvoyance and knew Peter was bringing home guests, or he’d been wearing the mask even inside.

Wade set his foot down, and stepped in close to Peter until they were sharing the same air. Wade was always so toasty, and his body was inches away. Peter felt warm all over as Wade pressed himself all the way against Peter, and oh, that was even warmer, and nicer. He’d missed getting to touch Wade.

“I missed you,” Peter said.

Wade kissed him, and it felt almost desperate, like he was worried Peter might disappear at any moment. It hadn’t been like this since the very start of them dating. Peter knew he’d have a lot of apologizing to do, but thankfully Wade seemed content with mostly placing the blame on Cable for now.

Wade pulled away, taking a deep breath. Peter tried to lean in for another kiss, searching out his lips. Before Peter could kiss him again, Wade spoke.

“Tom Selleck,” he said breathily.

Peter startled.

“What?”

Wade snorted, and apparently whatever look was on Peter’s face was also hilarious, because he burst out laughing, bracing himself with a hand on the wall beside Peter like he was worried he’d collapse from laughter.

Peter raised a brow, unimpressed at the interruption.

“May’s spank material,” Wade replied, as though that cleared it up.

Wade kept laughing, and Peter felt odd with Wade watching him and laughing like that, so he shifted to move out from between Wade and the wall. Wade caught him with a loose arm around his waist.

“You couldn’t remember. He’s the guy with the porn stache who May had stashed under her bed,” Wade said.

And suddenly the message from all those weeks ago came back to his mind in full clarity. Something caught in Peter’s throat.

“You got that?”

Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure about some of the messages he’d sent. He’d told Wade he loved him. He didn’t regret saying those words, but why did he do that over voicemail? What if Wade didn’t say it back? Or worse, what if he just said it to make Peter happy? He’d spent all the time he was away with Cable sending messages, not knowing if Wade was even getting them. Peter hadn’t noticed until now, but at some point he stopped expecting for them to go through.

Peter had faced men with mechanical tentacles that wanted to kill him. He’d been beaten, and had buses thrown at him. He’d faced literal gods, but this right here, Wade looking him in the eye and knowing how he felt, terrified him more than anything.

“For the record,” Wade said, leaning down a little to catch Peter’s eyes. “I love you a thousand times three.” Wade winked somewhere off towards the side in a way that didn’t feel like it was meant for Peter. “One thousand for each of the Boxes too,” Wade explained.

Peter searched Wade’s face for some kind of sign this was a joke or a lie. It was too simple. This was when the other shoe was supposed to drop.

The arm around his waist squeezed in reassurance, and Wade reached up with his other hand to brush an errant curl from Peter’s forehead.

“I wasn’t aware it was a competition,” Peter said finally.

“You little shit,” Wade said, sounding fond. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Seriously, I’m getting one of those monkey backpacks with the leashes and making you wear it everywhere like the worst helicopter parent.”

“Kinky.”

“You say that now cuz you think I’m joking, but I’m dead serious.”

“I know you are,” Peter said indulgently.

Peter didn’t know where the sudden energy came from, because he had been so exhausted moments ago, but it was like a switch had been flicked. Suddenly, he wanted his hands on Wade, and Wade’s hands on him. He wanted to be pressed as close to Wade as was humanly and scientifically possible.

“I need us both to be naked, right now,” Peter said.

Wade’s eyes darkened.

“I think we can make that happen.”

After a very sweaty, very quiet session spent reacquainting themselves with one another, Peter turned to Wade. “Why didn’t we say ‘I love you’ sooner?” Peter mused, even more tired than before. They’d had to be quiet because of Cable and Hope, but that just meant they got a little creative.

“Had to give the readers all of that mangst they crave. Can’t just give away the cute fluffiness for free. You’ve gotta work for it.”

He leaned on top of Wade, arms crossed and head resting on Wade’s chest. Wade wiggled a little like he was uncomfortable, but Peter stayed right on top of him, knowing that the only way to have deep conversations like this sometimes was to physically sit on Wade. Or to surprise him right after sex, like now. Wade was a lot more forthcoming when he was sweaty and still coming down from an orgasm.

“I guess I’m still kinda surprised you’ve stuck around,” Wade said, voice slightly hushed.

Peter opened his mouth to reassure Wade, but before he could, Wade shushed him.

“No, I know you love me now. I just...good things don’t happen for me. I’m still getting used to having...all of this.” Wade gestured all around Peter, and the apartment around them. 

Peter glanced around, but he didn’t see anything too special about the room. Although, granted it was a lot less call-the-CDC levels of disgusting, and instead a decent lazy-college-kid level kind of mess, which was definitely an improvement.

“So it’s not me...it’s you?” Peter teased.

“You little shit. I’m baring my soul here.”

Peter found himself twisted around so Wade was settled on top of him, leaning all of his considerable weight on him and pressing Peter into the mattress.

Peter snickered, and let Wade pepper a few kisses around his face before he shoved at Wade’s chest. Wade retaliated by pressing his damp chest even more onto Peter.

“Scooch,” Peter said, giving Wade another nudge. “Not that this isn’t nice, but we’re sticky and gross. We need to wash up.” He felt like he had weeks of interdimensional grime lingering on his skin. Not to mention the sweaty sex they’d just had.

Wade grumbled, but rolled off of Peter, letting him up.

Peter went to run the bath, checking the temperature and adding the bubble bath that smelled like bubble gum that Wade liked so much. He’d noticed how irritated Wade’s skin looked—no doubt he’d spent too many hours recently in the Deadpool suit than out. The motions reminded him of how Wanda had run the bath for him a few days ago.

He got the tub mostly filled before he went to grab Wade from where he was still curled up, sticky and sweaty and half-asleep on the bed. The other man looked as exhausted as Peter felt—the dark circles under his eyes evidence of how much fretting he probably had done while Peter had been gone.

“Bubbles?” Wade asked sleepily, stirring when Peter scooped him up in a princess carry.

“Bubbles,” Peter agreed, pressing a kiss to Wade’s forehead.

He lifted Wade into the tub, and kept him upright before settling himself behind Wade. He pulled Wade back against his chest so Wade was seated between his legs.

“Long couple weeks, huh?” Wade asked.

“Long month,” Peter corrected, pressing a kiss to the side of Wade’s neck. Wade hummed thoughtfully.

Peter picked up the loofah and started gently cleaning the mess from Wade’s chest. He had to fight Wade falling asleep into the bubbles at every turn, but he managed to get them both clean and dry.

Later when they were tucked into bed, Wade wrapped himself around Peter like an octopus. Peter felt like his heart had been running double-time since he left all those days ago, and it was only just starting to slow down.

The weight of Wade’s leg around his hip was so like cuddling with Wanda those few days ago. But this time he recognized the feel of the body at his back, the firm chest, and the big hand in his; and the slight scrape against his skin of Wade’s necklace that matched Peter’s own.

“You know, while you were gone, I might have bought a few things,” Wade said, startling Peter out of a daze. He’d just been about to drop off.

“I noticed,” Peter mumbled. “It looks like IKEA fairies stole into my place in the night and spruced it up.”

“Not IKEA, just your friendly neighborhood Deadpool with a little help from Auntie May. She was a real peach. Helped me pick out curtains, and explain what the fuck a Brita filter is. Did you know our water is dirty? Apparently you can’t just drink it from the sink. I’m still not clear on the details, but now Yellow’s got another conspiracy theory to worry us all about.”

“You got me a Brita filter, however will I repay you,” Peter said with mocking gratitude.

“Then there was the dishware. Did you know there are dishes that don’t have Captain America’s ass on them?”

“Only everywhere. Pretty sure you’re just shopping on dodgy sites.”

“Dodgy. Wonderful. Po-tay-o, po-tah-to.”

Peter rolled around so he was facing Wade, almost dislodging the leg wrapped around him.

“Pretty sure there was a point in here somewhere,” Peter said, hoping to redirect Wade back to whatever point he had been about to make.

Wade watched him, eyes tracking across Peter’s face like he was committing him to memory. He cupped Peter’s cheek.

“Right. That. The point is that now you have too much stuff. And there’s no room for you and me and the stuff and the cat. And at the risk of getting too end of a rom-com-y, I’ve been thinking. You know, we’ve been dating for over a year. That’s a long time. I don’t think I’ve even been able to commit to shampoo scents for that long.”

“You don’t use shampoo.”

“You should maybe have your stuff live at my place!” Wade blurted out.

It took a moment for Peter to translate the statement into sense in his brain.

“My stuff, or me?”

Wade fidgetted, but he didn’t move away, just kept one arm firmly around Peter’s waist and his hand on Peter’s face.

“Do you want to move in with me?” Wade didn’t meet Peter’s eyes, instead he looked off to the side, worrying his lip with his teeth.

“Are you asking because you bought too much stuff and now my apartment won’t fit me in it, or are you asking because you want me to come live with you?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Wade.”

Wade sighed, and finally met Peter’s gaze.

“I want you to come move in with me. You already come over most nights anyway when you crash after patrol, or if you get in the zone studying. Why don’t we just make it more official and permanent?”

Peter smiled, and was pleased to see Wade’s lips tentatively lift as well.

“I’d love that, Wade.”

Peter leaned closer, bracing a hand against Wade’s chest to lean over and kiss that small smile. When he pulled away, Wade was full-on grinning.

“Okay, but if you come over, you can never leave.”

Peter laughed. It seemed he did that a lot when Wade was around.

“Works for me. But the fur baby’s coming with.”

Peter wriggled closer to Wade.

“I gave her a real name by the way. Took her into the vet to get her lo-jacked even though Yellow was firmly against letting big brother track our fur baby. Anyway, the lady was staring at me, and I couldn’t tell her the trash heap’s name was Kitty, and I’ve been calling her Dolly anyway, so it’s official.”

“As in, ‘Hello, Dolly!’?”

“As in, Parton. Keep up, Parker,” Wade scolded. “Miss Parton’s got a chip, and all her vaccinations, and we both had to witness the shame of thermometers going places they really shouldn’t be going. Not to mention the smell of disinfectant.” Peter felt the way Wade had gone tense next to him.

“Thanks for doing that. I know that couldn’t have been easy,” Peter said, grabbing Wade’s hand and rubbing his thumb soothingly along the back of it.

“I’m just glad you’re home,” Wade said, his voice a whisper.

Peter tucked his face into Wade’s chest. All he wanted to do was sink into the mattress and sleep, but there was still something niggling at the back of his mind.

“It doesn’t feel fair the way you let me off the hook for things like this. I disappeared for weeks.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Wade said, his jaw making a cracking sound as he yawned. “Nate was the one who didn’t tell you the whole plan. Classic Priscilla move. And besides, you tried to leave a message for me.”

Wade’s arm moved to squeeze Peter impossibly closer. Peter felt tension he hadn’t even noticed building up all along his spine ease a bit.

“You did the best you could,” Wade said. “Now stop worrying so much. You’ll make the communal hair go gray.”

“It’s my hair.” Peter wriggled his fingers between Wade’s until they were interlocked.

“Yeah, but you’re growing for two, so you’ve gotta take care of it. And if you keep worrying like this you’ll pull a Rogue, and start looking like a very adorable skunk.”

Peter didn’t dignify that with a response. Something Wade said finally wiggled its way through his brain though.

“Wait, Nate? All this time and you’re telling Cable’s name is Nate?” He should’ve known his real name wasn’t Cable. No one named their kid that, no matter how growly and annoying they were.

Wade laughed.

“He likes to be dramatic. Why do you think I call him Priscilla? He’s fun to wind up.”

The warmth and overwhelming fatigue made everything feel a bit hazy, so that even the brief burst of anger at Cable not sharing his name with him was already trickling away. Everything was drifting away, leaving him with only exhaustion. Peter yawned, jaw cracking from the motion.

“Go the fuck to sleep, sweetie-Petey. You can go back to angsting in the morning,” Wade murmured, pressing a kiss into Peter’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried three or four times to write a more explicit sex scene for this chapter, but Wade and Peter wouldn't cooperate. Maybe for the next part of this series I'll be able to make it happen.


	19. Gummy Bear Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of pancakes are made.

Peter woke to an empty bed. It took a moment to register why that shouldn’t be the case, but when he looked around he remembered where he was. The sheets beside him had long gone cold, but the sounds from the kitchen and the smell of pancakes told him Wade hadn’t gone far.

When he got to the kitchen, he found a veritable feast spread out along the table and spilling over onto the counters. There were dozens of pancakes stacked high, with every filling possible from the cupboards. He thought he saw gummy bears in one, even though Wade had sworn them off after that particular experiment had ended with a scorched wall and an obliterated smoke alarm. He must have gone shopping while Peter was asleep because there was bacon, sausage, eggs, and a large bowl of fruit as well. Not to mention the half dozen or so boxes of cereal.

In the middle of it all was Wade, wearing the vintage lacy apron Peter bought him for his birthday, delightfully mask-free. He was smiling down at Hope who Peter almost missed amongst the piles of food and condiments set out on the table.

Hope giggled, clearly amused with whatever Wade had said.

“Morning,” Peter greeted.

Neither of the other two startled, so clearly they’d heard him coming. He expected it from Wade, but it was odd to see Hope who was still just a child, be so alert.

“Morning, sleepy Spidey. Thought you were gonna snooze all day,” Wade said.

“Looking to feed an army?” Peter mused.

“Kids need to eat a lot, right?” Wade asked. “She’s gotta grow from this itty bitty thing to be bigger.”

“Bigger. Not Hulk-sized,” Peter said, snagging a pancake on his way over to Wade who had a cup of coffee ready for him.

Wade reeled him in with an arm around his waist, and Peter leaned into his side, grateful for the contact. He had a feeling they’d be attached at the hip for a couple of days at least. He had weeks of cuddles to catch up on after all.

Peter drained a good half of the coffee before setting it down.

“Is Cable still sleeping?” Peter asked.

“Grumpypants? Nah, he was up at ass o’clock in the morning. It’s like his internal clock is set to grandpa. He read the paper and then went off to do some super-secret errand that the rest of us don’t get to know about.”

“He told me. He went to call grandpa,” Hope said.

“Hold up, what? He told you. How come he made it sound all sneaky and covert when I asked him. He was all: ‘the timeline hangs in the balance, Wade’.”

Hope giggled.

“He was teasing you,” she said.

Peter snorted.

“That little shit. You tell your papa he’s on thin fucking ice,” Wade said, pointing the spatula at Hope with a stern look on his face that was ruined a bit by the smear of pancake batter he’d just left on his cheek. 

Peter reached up to wipe it off.

“Wade, maybe keep the language PG-13,” Peter said. “Or PG?”

Wade and Hope shared a look.

“You’re right,” Wade said, smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Hope, tell your papa that if he does anything like what he did these past weeks again, I’ll tell everyone about the thing with Domino and the broken truck stop bathroom. And I’ll tell them it was a watersports thing. See him try to meet dear pappy Summers’ eye with that out in the world.”

“What’s watersports?” Hope asked. “Is it like a game?”

“Ask Nate,” Wade said with a slightly evil grin.

Peter grabbed a piece of bacon and shoved it in Wade’s mouth, hoping to keep him from saying anything else inappropriate in front of Hope.

“By the way, I emailed your professors to let them know you’d be gone,” Wade said through the mouthful of bacon. “Ned talked me out of using the diarrhea excuse. Figured that would just embarrass you. So if anyone asks, your parents died. Again.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t even think of Jameson,” Peter said with a groan.

“I believe you meant ‘thank you, Wadey-poo for taking care of my missed classes.’ And for getting your missed assignments and notes, which I also did. I bribed your fellow students.”

“Thank you for taking care of my missed classes,” Peter said with a grumble. “I’m so giving Cable a talking to for my fun new unemployment though.”

“Actually, I might have taken care of that too,” Wade said, sounding a bit shifty. He didn’t meet Peter’s eyes.

It took a moment to process Wade’s words, but when he did, he realized there was only one explanation.

“You threatened my boss,” Peter hissed. He gave Wade’s shoulder a scolding nudge, but then settled back down to lean on it.

“I incentivized him.”

“You threatened him,” Peter corrected.

Hope watched them both, enraptured by the bickering.

“By the way, I made some calls,” Wade said, tossing another couple pancakes onto Hope’s plate. These ones had chocolate chips and gummy bears, but Hope took a bite and didn’t even have the decency to wince at the taste of burnt gelatin. “Got Wolvie to find these two a room. Our stray dimension-hopper infestation is taken care of. Well, assuming Cable does the unthinkable and takes them up on the offer.”

Wade dusted off his hands, only succeeding in smearing syrup over both.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Your Deus Ex Deadpool took care of it,” Wade said, grinning as he brought his fingers up to lick the syrup off.

Peter grabbed his mug of coffee again, more for something to keep his hands busy than anything else.

“Huh,” Peter said. “Seems like you’ve been taking care of everything.”

“I’m about to take care of a whole lot more once this rating gets bumped above PG when the ankle-biter there vacates the premises,” Wade said, dropping his voice suggestively.

“Pretty sure she’s past ankle biting height.”

Peter’s spidey sense flared a moment before there was a flash of light. He had just enough time to jump between Wade and the newcomer, succeeding in spilling coffee down his front, before he realized who it was.

“She’s past ankle height,” Cable said drily.

Wade snagged a dish towel and dutifully started dabbing at Peter’s crotch.

“But you don’t dispute that she bites,” Wade said, pointing accusingly with a spatula.

Cable made his way to the cupboard to grab a plate like he hadn’t just scared the crap out of them.

“We have a front door, you know,” Peter complained.

“Priscilla likes to make an entrance,” Wade said. “He’s dramatic like that.”

Wade tossed the coffee-stained towel onto the floor and nudged Peter aside to pile another couple pancakes onto Hope’s plate even though she still had a mostly full plate. Clearly, Wade was determined to fatten the twig of a girl up. Peter couldn’t say he didn’t have the same impulse after seeing some glimpses of the dark future she’d been subjected to.

Cable lifted a brow, giving Wade a dubious look, his mouth quirking up.

“I’m dramatic?” Cable asked, sounding teasing. “I’m not the one who once interrupted a mob boss meeting by jumping down from a skylight and shooting two of the leaders. All while wearing a ball gown.”

Hope looked intrigued, she perked up, and opened her mouth.

“Don’t ask,” Cable said, stopping her in her tracks.

Hope pouted.

“You say dramatic, I say a genius of comedic timing,” Wade said.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Peter said, gently shoving Wade onto one of the chairs. He sat himself into the neighboring chair and threw his legs across Wade’s lap, effectively trapping him, and hopefully distracting the man from this little interaction with Cable. It was unnerving seeing Cable smiling so much, and being almost flirtatious.

Cable’s mouth quirked up like he wanted to laugh at Peter.

_ There’s no need to be jealous. _ Peter jumped at the sudden voice. It felt like the noise bounced around his head, and when he looked around no one else had reacted to the words.

_ Are you talking to me in my head?  _ Peter mentally asked.

Cable’s smile widened.

_ Why the hell didn’t you use this before? I thought it was one way! _

They could’ve been having conversations in their heads this whole time.

_ There was no need. Out loud worked just fine. _

“So, what’s the plan?” Wade asked, interrupting their little telepathic tête-à-tête.

Cable sat beside Hope, digging into his own plate with a military precision to his motions. It was so unlike Wade, who ate noisily and with such gusto that he usually ended up with a good amount of food down his front.

“Back to hip-hopping through dusty apocalyptic wastelands?” Wade asked, sounding deceptively calm, but Peter saw the tight grip he had on his fork. Peter put a hand on Wade’s thigh, and Wade sent him a small smile.

“I think Hope and I are going to take you up on that offer to go to the X-Men.”

“What happened to not being able to trust anyone?” Wade asked, sounding slightly bitter.

“Something your boy said got me thinking,” Cable said.

It took a moment to realize Cable was talking about him. His cheeks warmed a bit at being referred to as Wade’s boy. He knew they were together—they were going to be moving in together for goodness sake—but it still delighted him every time someone else reminded him of how fortunate he was.

“You were right. Maybe this could’ve all been avoided if I hadn’t been so stubborn. I didn’t want to risk trusting anyone, but that just left us alone. If I’d put my faith in someone else, maybe I could have avoided all of this. Besides, Hope deserves to be around kids her own age—to have a chance at a normal childhood.” 

Cable reached over to muss Hope’s hair. She made a noise of protest and tried to duck away, but Peter caught the smile on her face.

“As normal as you can get in that place,” Wade pointed out. “Pretty sure Xavier’s school of child soldiers has a slightly odd curriculum. Also, do they even have things like math class? Or is it strictly danger room simulations?”

Cable chuckled, and refilled his own plate.

“You’re welcome to come with,” Cable said. “Look things over.”

Cable and Wade shared a serious look, and Peter glanced to Hope who was watching them with curious eyes.

“We’ll stop by in a day or two. Let you get settled first,” Wade said finally.

They finished breakfast in relative civility, aside from a little passive aggressive glaring from Wade directed at Cable. Soon, it came time to see Hope and Cable off. Cable was impatient to get moving as always. Peter wondered how long he would last at the mansion before he needed to run again.

“Well, it’s been real,” Wade said, one arm firmly planted around Peter’s shoulders like he was worried Cable might try to snatch him away as he left. “Let’s do this never ever ever again.”

“Good to see you too, Wade,” Cable said with a soft smile.

“Kiss good-bye?” Wade said cheerily.

There was no kiss good-bye. Hope grabbed her backpack, which Wade had filled with as many gummy worms and snack cakes as he could fit inside. She gave Wade a hug, much to the bemusement of Wade. And Peter got a shy wave from her. Cable didn’t hug or wave, just offered Peter a nod of thanks, and just before the cab pulled away, called out to Wade that his fly was down. Apparently this meant Wade needed to grin like an idiot for a solid minute, even as he swore profusely after the taxi.

“I don’t know if I could ever handle a kid,” Peter said, once they were back in the apartment with all the locks done up, and the chain pulled into place. Wade seemed to think it would be enough to deter wayward dimension hoppers.

“I dunno. I think I’d make an excellent mother.”

“Haha,” Peter said. “Although, I could picture you in a frilly little apron making me a pot roast,” Peter teased, reeling Wade in with an arm around his waist to press a kiss to his lips.

Wade kissed back enthusiastically, knocking Peter into the couch until he was perched on the back of it.

“We should get you boxes,” Wade said absently.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for parenting.”

“And rent a moving van to bring your stuff to mine,” Wade continued.

“Seriously, we had Hope here for only one night, and I had an anxiety dream about dropping her on her head.”

“Pretty sure she wasn’t a toddler,” Wade said, absently putting a hand on Peter’s waist. “And enough about Baby Phoenix. We just got rid of those two.”

“I woke up three times last night in a cold sweat, convinced that she was going to go missing again. Or that angry cyborgs from the future were about to come in with big guns and shoot at her.”

“Don’t worry. I think Cable took care of that already,” Wade assured him.

Wade’s thumb pet at the bare skin of Peter’s hip.

“Kids plus me aren’t a good idea,” Peter said. “I don’t know how May and Ben did it.”

He leaned up for another kiss.

Wade pulled away, both hands on Peter’s hips now.

“Never say never,” Wade said. “Maybe there’s a charming, slightly aggressive little girl with a penchant for mischief and an unhealthy love of Spider-Man and Squirrel Girl out there.”

“We’ll start packing tomorrow,” Peter promised.

Wade leaned down for a kiss, and Peter settled into it, enjoying the familiar feeling of Wade’s lips against his and Wade’s hands on his waist.

“That’s...unsettlingly specific,” Peter said.

“What is?” Wade said, sounding entirely too innocent.

“I’m too busy wanting to get busy to deal with whatever that is right now,” Peter said, gesturing to Wade’s smirk. “But rest assured, after we finish banging like a screen door in a hurricane, we are discussing this. Actually, we’re discussing everything, but not right now. Right now we’re getting naked.”

“Sure thing, baby boy.”

Peter giggled as Wade tipped him back onto the couch behind him, clambering over the back of the couch to follow behind him.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving time.

“That was Captain Tight-ass,” Wade said, breezing back in. Peter noted the flip phone in his hand that he shoved into the fanny pack around his waist—it was his work phone. Wade hefted up a couple of the boxes by the door, and let Peter go through the doorway with his own stack of boxes before he followed.

“What did he want?” Peter asked. It had only been a week since he’d gotten back, but he was still exhausted from the trip. He wasn’t looking forward to another mission so soon.

“Something about an alien threat in Nevada. Or maybe Arizona...Utah? Some dusty state.”

Peter had barely exerted himself carrying boxes down the stairs to the car, but now he felt too warm. He hopped up into the moving van and set the boxes down, then jumped back out so Wade could do the same. He fanned at his face with his hand, hoping to cool down.

“When do they need us?” he asked, sounding breathless.

Wade set down the boxes with a grunt.He was out of his suit, dressed in cut-off shorts, and a tight t-shirt that proclaimed he hearted Spidey and that strained against his chest every time he picked things up or put them down. His half of their red heart pendant hung from his neck on a cheap silver chain announcing him as “Best”. It was a little difficult to enjoy the view though, with the threat of the Avengers cutting into Peter’s free time.

“They don’t. I told them to take their mission and shove it somewhere dark and unpleasant.”

“What?”

“I said it nicely, I swear,” Wade said, lifting his hands up in a placating gesture. “I told them that you were burnt out from your month-long stint being Priscilla’s butt monkey, and you needed some time off.”

“And?” Peter couldn’t imagine that would have gone over well. Why should they care if he was tired? Hero work didn’t get put on hold just because he was feeling worn down.

Peter hadn’t noticed, but at some point his hand had started worrying at his wrist, reaching for a web-shooter that wasn’t there. Wade stepped down from the van, and came over to where Peter was standing. His expression was curiously unreadable.

Wade reached out to snag Peter by the waist, reeling him in. On reflex, Peter lifted his arms to wrap them around Wade’s shoulders, hands coming up to interlock behind Wade’s neck.

“He said it was about damn time,” Wade said, his expression finally breaking into a smile.

Peter sighed in relief. As much as he wanted to do more as Spider-Man, he knew the rate he was pushing himself wasn’t sustainable. Maybe Ned and Wade both had a point about him needing to take a break. It wouldn’t help anyone if he overextended himself.

Peter leaned up on his toes so they were forehead-to-forehead.

“I love you,” Peter said.

“I know.” Wade flashed him a cheeky smile.

Peter kissed him again, letting Wade pull him in until they were pressed together—thigh to thigh, chest to chest. He got so engrossed in the kiss, and the feel of Wade against him, that he lost track of where they were and what they’d been doing.

“Any time you guys want to quit making out, and help, that would be great.”

Peter pulled away from Wade’s lips to see Ned struggling under the weight of a box marked “Books”. Before he could go to help, Wade beat him to it.

“Remember when you had a socially debilitating obsession with me? That was fun,” Wade teased.

“The faster we get this stuff out, the faster we can get some food,” Ned pointed out as Wade tucked the box up into the van with the rest of them. “Less with the talking and the making out, and more with the moving.”

“I’m thinking barbecue,” Wade said. “We can pick up some stuff from that place we saved from being squished by that giant bird thing. The owner said he’d give us free garlic bread for life.”

Peter followed them both up the stairs to the apartment. At this point, there were only a few more boxes of stuff left to grab—some dishes, odds and ends—and the bits of furniture Wade had accumulated while Peter was gone with Cable.

“Being a superhero sounds awesome. You guys get so much free stuff,” Ned said appreciatively. “Maybe I should try it.”

“It leaves you with no free time,” Wade pointed out, nudging the mark on the floor Cable’s dimension hopper had left behind.

“No social life,” Peter added.

“Plus there’s the loss of limb, and some seriously nasty rashes from all the leather.”

Peter and Ned both made faces.

“And really you have to have everyone you’ve ever loved die tragically in front of you,” Wade continued, staring at the boxes on the couch consideringly, like he thought he might try stacking all five of them on top of one another and carrying the pile in one go.

Peter raised a brow. Ned shuffled uncomfortably at his side.

“Well, almost everyone,” Wade amended, turning to give Peter a smile.

“I think I’ll stick with being a civilian,” Ned said.

It only took another half hour and some creative Jenga thinking to finish packing the rest of Peter’s stuff into the van, but they got the job done.

Wade and Ned waited in the van below while Peter went upstairs to do one last walk-through. The apartment looked oddly smaller than before, even with all the newfound space. The light trailing in from the afternoon sun was almost melancholic in the way it poured across where the couch used to sit. 

Peter studied a mark on the wall no doubt left from him climbing up to pace on the ceiling. There was a permanent stain on the floor by the window from Wade and him both coming home bleeding on numerous occasions. And there was the scorch mark on the floor that had been there since he came back with Cable.

He was surprised to find that his heart ached a little knowing that this was the last time he’d be here. This place was a dive, sure, but it was where he’d patched himself up after patrols. It was where Wade broke in to bring him food and watch TV with him. It was where May visited when she knew he was in too deep studying and needed a break. It was where Ned brought games for hangout nights, and MJ came to watch incomprehensible indie movies.

It was his home. Or, it had been.

He took a deep breath, taking it all in for the last time. He heard a honk from the sidewalk below as Ned and Wade got impatient. Even from this distance, he could hear one of them saying something about garlic bread.

He locked the door. The key to the old apartment clattered against a hot pink, leopard print key that dangled beside it. He unwound the old key off the keyring as he made his way down the stairs to the van waiting down below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations if you made it this far. You’re a trooper. I hope you enjoyed it. Leave a kudos and a comment if you did. And have a lovely day!
> 
> Also, make sure to check out the artist, Areon, and give them some love.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I’d like to thank my beta reader, Ericurrr, so so much! They gave me great notes and suggestions for my story. I loved all their little comments. They were funny and helpful. My first draft was a mess, and they helped me dig into that mess and find something that hopefully wasn’t too crap.
> 
> I’d also like to thank my artist for this event, Areon. I feel honored that they chose my story. They made a gorgeous banner for this story, and a beautiful illustration! Make sure to check them out over on tumblr (areonsbullshit).
> 
> Thank you to the mods for the Spideypool Big Bang that made this whole event possible (Lunastories, MsCaptainWinchester, & Nimohtar). Y’all are awesome!
> 
> And as always, I’d like to thank coffee. I’m a wreck without you.


End file.
